LITTLE  MOTHER 
TO  THE  OTHERS 


^r^^^TY 


MRS.LTMEADE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Little  Mother  to  the  Others 


BY 

Mrs.  L.  T.  MEADE 


AUTHOR  OF 

"The   School  Favorite,"     "A  Bunch   of  Cherries,"    "Frances 
Kane's  Fortune,"  "Time  of  Roses,"  Etc. 


M.    A.    DONOHUE    &    COMPANY 

CHICAGO 


PS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Poor  Innocent 5 

II.     A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others 20 

III.     The  Arrival  of  the  Aunt 33 

IV.     Rnb-a-Dub    43 

V.     Aunt  is  Her  Name 54 

VI.     The  Poor  Dead   'Uns 66 

VII.  But  Ann  Could  not  Help  Letting  Out  Now  and  Then.  81 

VIII.     The  Straw  Too  Much 95 

IX.     The  Punishment  Chamber 104 

X.     Bow   and   Arrow 122 

XL     Jog'aphy    135 

XII.     A   Baby's    Honor 141 

XIIL     Birch  Eod 152 

XIV.     Diana 's  Revenge   162 

XV.     Mother  Eodesia   173 

XVI.     Unele  Ben    184 

XVII.     Greased  Lightning   194 

XVIII.     The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother 208 

XIX.      "A  Pigmy,  I  Call  Him " 222 

XX.     "Let's  Pertend,"  Said  Diana 229 

•yXT.     Pole  Star 238 

XXIL     The  Milkman  251 

XXIII.  Fortune   262 

XXIV.  On  the  Trail 269 

XXV.     Pound    277 

XXVI.  The  Little  Mother  to  the  Rescue...                        ...288 


2137109   * 


A  LITTLE  MOTHER  TO 
THE  OTHERS 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  POOR  INNOCENT. 

The  four  children  had  rather  peculiar  names.  The  eld- 
est girl  was  called  Iris,  which,  as  everybody  ought  to  know, 
means  rainbow — indeed,  there  was  an  Iris  spoken  of  in  the 
old  Greek  legends,  who  was  supposed  to  be  Hera's  chief 
messenger,  and  whenever  a  rainbow  appeared  in  the  sky 
it  was  said  that  Iris  was  bringing  down  a  message  from 
Hera.  The  Iris  of  this  story  was  a  very  pretty,  thoughtful 
little  girl,  aged  ten  years.  Her  mother  often  talked  to 
her  about  her  name,  and  told  her  the  story  which  was 
associated  with  it.  The  eldest  boy  was  called  Apollo,  which 
also  is  a  Greek  name,  and  was  supposed  at  one  time  to 
belong  to  the  most  beautiful  boy  in  the  world.  The  next 
girl  was  called  Diana,  and  the  youngest  boy's  name  was 
Orion. 

When  this  story  opens,  Iris  was  ten  years  old,  Apollo 
nine,  Diana  six,  and  little  Orion  five.  They  were  like 
ordinary  children  in  appearance,  being  neither  particularly 
5 


6  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

handsome  nor  particularly  the  reverse ;  but  in  their  minds 
and  ways,  in  their  habits  and  tastes  they  seemed  to  have 
inherited  a  savor  of  those  far-off  beings  after  whom  their 
mother  had  called  them.  They  were,  in  short,  very  un- 
worldly children — that  does  not  mean  that  they  were  spe- 
cially religious — but  they  did  not  care  for  fine  clothes,  nor 
the  ordinary  amusements  which  ordinary  children  delight 
in.  They  loved  flowers  with  a  love  which  was  almost  a 
passion,  and  they  also  knew  a  great  deal  about  the  stars, 
and  often  coaxed  their  mother  to  allow  them  to  sit  up 
late  at  night  to  watch  the  different  constellations;  but 
above  all  these  things  they  adored,  with  a  great  adoration, 
the  entire  animal  kingdom. 

It  so  happened  that  the  little  Delaneys  spent  the  greater 
part  of  their  time  in  a  beautiful  garden.  I  don't  think, 
in  all  the  course  of  my  wanderings,  I  ever  saw  a  garden 
quite  to  compare  to  that  in  which  their  early  days  were 
spent.  Even  in  the  winter  they  lived  the  greater  part 
of  their  time  here,  being  hardy  children  and  never  catch- 
ing cold.  The  house  was  a  fine  and  beautiful  building, 
having  belonged  to  their  family  for  several  generations, 
but  the  children  thought  nothing  at  all  of  that  in  compari- 
son with  the  garden.  Here,  when  possible,  they  even  had 
their  lessons;  here  they  played  all  their  wonderful  and 
remarkable  games;  here  they  went  through  their  brief 
sorrows,  and  tasted  their  sweetest  joys.  But  I  must  hasten 
to  describe  the  garden  itself.  In  the  first  place,  it  was 
old-fashioned,  having  very  high  brick  walls  covered  all 
over  with  fruit  trees.  These  fruit  trees  had  grown  slowly, 
and  were  now  in  the  perfection  of  their  prime.  Never 


The  Poor  Innocent.  7 

were  such  peaches  to  be  seen,  nor  such  apricots,  nor  such 
cherries,  as  ripened  slowly  on  the  red  brick  walls  of  the 
old  garden.  Inside  the  walls  almost  all  well-known  Eng- 
lish flowers  flourished  in  lavish  profusion.  There  was  also 
fruit  to  be  found  here  in  quantities.  Never  were  such 
strawberries  to  be  seen  as  could  be  gathered  from  those 
great  strawberry  beds.  Then  the  gooseberries  with  which 
the  old  bushes  were  laden;  the  currants,  red,  black,  and 
white;  the  raspberries,  had  surely  their  match  nowhere 
else  on  this  earth. 

The  walled-in  garden  contained  quite  five  acres  of 
ground,  and  was  divided  itself  into  three  portions.  In  the 
middle  was  the  flower  garden  proper.  Here  there  was  a 
long,  straight  walk  which  led  to  an  arbor  at  the  bottom. 
The  children  were  particularly  fond  of  this  arbor,  for  their 
father  had  made  it  for  them  with  his  own  hands,  and 
their  mother  had  watched  its  growth.  Mrs.  Delaney  was 
very  delicate  at  the  time,  and  as  she  looked  on  and  saw 
the  pretty  arbor  growing  into  shape,  she  used  to  lean  on 
Iris'  arm  and  talk  to  her  now  and  then  in  her  soft,  low 
voice  about  the  flowers  and  the  animals,  and  the  happy 
life  which  the  little  people  were  leading.  At  these  mo- 
ments a  look  would  often  conie  into  her  mother's  gentle 
eyes  which  caused  Iris'  heart  to  beat  fast,  and  made  her 
tighten  her  clasp  on  the  slender  arm.  Then,  when  the 
arbor  was  quite  finished,  Mr.  Delaney  put  little  seats  into 
it,  a  rustic  chair  for  each  child,  which  he  or  she  could  take 
in  or  out  at  pleasure.  The  chairs  were  carved  in  com- 
memoration of  each  child's  name.  Iris  had  the  deep  pur- 
ple flowers  which  go  by  that  name  twined  round  and  round 


8  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

the  back  of  hers.  Apollo's  chair  was  made  memorable  with 
his  well-known  lyre  and  bow,  and  these  words  were  carved 
round  it:  "The  golden  lyre  shall  be  my  friend,  the  bent 
bow  my  delight,  and  in  oracles  will  I  foretell  the  dark 
future." 

Diana's  chair  had  a  bow  and  quiver  engraved  on  the 
back,  while  little  Orion's  represented  a  giant  with  a  girdle 
and  a  sword.  The  children  were  very  proud  of  their 
chairs,  and  often  talked  of  them  to  one  another,  and  Iris, 
who  was  the  story-teller  of  the  party,  was  never  tired  of 
telling  the  stories  of  the  great  originals  after  whom  she 
and  her  brothers  and  sister  were  named. 

Down  the  straight  path  which  led  to  the  pretty  arbor 
were  Scotch  roses,  red  and  white.  The  smell  of  these  roses 
in  the  summer  was  quite  enough  to  ravish  you.  Iris  in 
particular  used  to  sniff  at  them  and  sniff  at  them  until 
she  felt  nearly  intoxicated  with  delight. 

The  central  garden,  which  was  mostly  devoted  to 
flowers,  led  through  little,  old-fashioned,  somewhat  nar- 
row postern  doors  into  the  fruit  gardens  on  either  side. 
In  these  were  the  gooseberries.  Here  were  to  be  found  the 
great  beds  of  strawberries;  here,  by-and-by,  ripened  the 
plums  and  the  many  sort?  of  apples  and  pears;  here,  too, 
were  the  great  glass  houses  where  the  grapes  assumed  their 
deep  claret  color  and  their  wonderful  bloom;  and  here 
also  were  some  peculiar  and  marvelous  foreign  flowers, 
such  as  orchids,  and  many  others. 

Whenever  the  children  were  not  in  the  house  they  were 
to  be  found  in  the  garden,  for,  in  addition  to  the  abun- 
dance of  fruit  and  vegetables,  it  also  possessed  some  stately 


The  Poor  Innocent.  9 

trees,  which  gave  plenty  of  shade  even  when  the  sun  was 
at  its  hottest.  Here  Iris  would  lie  full  length  on  her  face 
and  hands,  and  dream  dreams  to  any  extent.  Novr  and 
then  also  she  would  wake  up  with  a  start  and  tell  mar- 
velous stories  to  her  brothers  and  sister.  She  told  stories 
very  well,  and  the  others  always  listened  solemnly  and 
begged  her  to  tell  more,  and  questioned  and  argued,  and 
tried  to  make  the  adventures  she  described  come  really 
into  their  own  lives. 

Iris  was  undoubtedly  the  most  imaginative  of  all  the 
little  party.  She  was  also  the  most  gentle  and  the  most 
thoughtful.  She  took  most  after  her  beautiful  mother, 
and  thought  more  than  any  of  the  others  of  the  peculiar 
names  after  which  they  were  all  called. 

On  a  certain  day  in  the  first  week  of  a  particularly  hot 
and  lovely  June,  Iris,  who  had  been  in  the  house  for  some 
time,  came  slowly  out,  swinging  her  large  muslin  hat  on 
her  arm.  Her  face  looked  paler  than  usual,  and  some- 
what thoughtful. 

"Here  you  are  at  last,  Iris,"  called  out  Diana,  in  her 
brisk  voice,  "and  not  a  moment  too  soon.  I  have  just 
found  a  poor  innocent  dead  on  the  walk;  you  must  come 
and  look  at  it  at  once." 

On  hearing  these  words,  the  gloom  left  Iris'  face  as  if 
by  magic. 

"Where  is  it?"  she  asked.  "I  hope  you  did  not  tread 
on  it,  Diana." 

"No;  but  Puff-Bail  did,"  answered  Diana.  "Don't 
blame  him,  please,  Iris;  he  is  only  a  puppy  and  always 
up  to  mischief.  He  took  the  poor  innocent  in  his  mouth 


10  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

and  shook  it;  but  I  think  it  was  quite  deaded  before 
that." 

"Then,  if  it  is  dead,  it  must  be  buried/'  said  Iris  sol- 
emnly. "Bring  it  into  the  arbor,  and  let  us  think  what 
kind  of  funeral  we  will  give  it." 

"Why  not  into  the  dead-house  at  once?"  queried  Diana. 

"No;  the  arbor  will  do  for  the  present." 

Iris  quickened  her  footsteps  and  walked  down  the 
straight  path  through  the  midst  of  the  Scotch  roses.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  pretty  little  summer-house,  she  seated  her- 
self on  her  rustic  chair  and  waited  until  Diana  arrived 
with  the  poor  innocent.  This  was  a  somewhat  unsightly 
object,  being  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  dead  earthworm 
which  had  been  found  on  the  walk,  and  which  Diana 
respected,  as  she  did  all  live  creatures,  great  or  small. 

"Put  it  down  there,"  said  Iris ;  "we  can  have  a  funeral 
when  the  sun  is  not  quite  so  hot." 

"I  suppose  it  will  have  a  private  funeral,"  said  Apollo, 
who  came  into  the  summer-house  at  that  moment.  "It  is 
nothing  but  a  poor  innocent,  and  not  worth  a  great  deal 
of  trouble;  and  I  do  hope,  Iris,"  he  added  eagerly,  "that 
you  will  not  expect  me  to  be  present,  for  I  have  got  some 
most  important  chemical  experiments  which  I  am  anxious 
to  go  on  with.  I  quite  hope  to  succeed  with  my  thermom- 
eter today,  and,  after  all,  as  it  is  only  a  worm " 

Iris  looked  up  at  him  with  very  solemn  eyes. 

"Only  a  worm,"  she  repeated.  "Is  that  its  fault,  poor 
thing?"  Apollo  seemed  to  feel  the  indignant  glance  of 
Iris*  brown  eyes.  He  sat  down  submissively  on  his  own 
chair.  Orion  and  Diana  dropped  on  their  knees  by  Iris' 


The  Poor  Innocent.  11 

side.  "I  think,"  said  Iris  slowly,  "that  we  will  give  this 
poor  innocent  a  simple  funeral.  The  coffin  must  be  made 
of  dock  leaves,  and " 

Here  she  was  suddenly  interrupted — a  shadow  fell  across 
the  entrance  door  of  the  pretty  summer-house.  An  elderly 
woman,  with  a  thin  face  and  lank  figure,  looked  in. 

"Miss  Iris,"  she  said,  "Mrs.  Delaney  is  awake  and  would 
be  glad  to  see  you." 

"Mother!"  cried  Iris  eagerly.  She  turned  at  once  to 
her  sister  and  brothers.  "The  innocent  must  wait,"  she 
said.  "Put  it  in  the  dead-house  with  the  other  creatures. 
I  will  attend  to  the  funeral  in  the  evening  or  to-morrow. 
Don't  keep  me  now,  children." 

"But  I  thought  you  had  just  come  from  mother,"  said 
Apollo. 

"No.  When  I  went  to  her  she  was  asleep.  Don't  keep 
me,  please."  The  woman  who  had  brought  the  message 
had  already  disappeared  down  the  long  straight  walk.  Iris 
took  to  her  heels  and  ran  after  her.  "Fortune,"  she  said, 
looking  into  her  face,  "is  mother  any  better?" 

"As  to  that,  Miss  Iris,  it  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 
Please  don't  hold  on  to  my  hand,  miss.  In  hot  weather  I 
hate  children  to  cling  to  me." 

Iris  said  nothing  more,  but  she  withdrew  a  little  from 
Fortune's  side. 

Fortune  hurried  her  steps,  and  Iris  kept  time  with  her. 
When  they  reached  the  house,  the  woman  stopped  and 
looked  intently  at  the  child. 

"You  can  go  straight  upstairs  at  once,  miss,  and  into 


12  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

the  room,"  she  said.  "You  need  not  knock;  my  mistress 
is  waiting  for  you." 

"Don't  37ou  think,  Fortune,  that  mother  is  just  a  little 
wee  bit  better  ?"  asked  Iris  again.  There  was  an  imploring 
note  in  her  question  this  time. 

"She  will  tell  you  herself,  my  dear.  Now,  be  quick; 
don't  keep  her  waiting.  It  is  bad  for  people,  when  they 
are  ill,  to  be  kept  waiting." 

"I  won't  keep  her;  I'll  go  to  her  this  very  instant,"  said 
Iris, 

The  old  house  was  as  beautiful  as  the  garden  to  which 
it  belonged.  It  had  been  built,  a  great  part  of  it,  centuries 
ago,  and  had,  like  many  other  houses  of  its  date,  been 
added  to  from  time  to  time.  Queerly  shaped  rooms  jutted 
out  in  many  quarters;  odd  stairs  climbed  up  in  several 
directions;  towers  and  turrets  were  added  to  the  roof; 
passages,  some  narrow,  some  broad,  connected  the  new 
buildings  with  the  old.  The  whole  made  an  incongruous 
and  yet  beautiful  effect,  the  new  rooms  possessing  the  ad- 
vantages and  comforts  which  modern  builders  put  into 
their  houses,  and  the  older  part  of  the  house  the  quaint 
devices  and  thick,  wainscoted  walls  and  deep,  mullioned 
windows  of  the  times  which  are  gone  by. 

Iris  ran  quickly  through  the  wide  entrance  hall  and  up 
the  broad,  white,  stone  stairs.  These  stairs  were  a  special 
feature  of  Delaney  Manor.  They  had  been  brought  all 
the  way  from  Italy  by  a  Delaney  nearly  a  hundred  years 
ago,  and  were  made  of  pure  marble,  and  were  very  lovely 
to  look  at.  When  Iris  reached  the  first  landing,  she  turned 
aside  from  the  spacious  modern  apartments  and,  opening 


The  Poor  Innocent.  13 

a  green  baize  door,  ran  down  a  narrow  passage.  At  the 
end  of  the  passage  she  turned  to  the  left  and  went  down 
another  passage,  and  then  wended  her  way  up  some  nar- 
row stairs,  which  curled  round  and  round  as  if  they  were 
going  up  a  tower.  This,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  the  case. 
Presently  Iris  pushed  aside  a  curtain,  and  found  herself 
in  an  octagon  room  nearly  at  the  top  of  a  somewhat  high, 
but  squarely  built,  tower.  This  room,  which  was  large 
and  airy,  was  wainscoted  with  oak ;  there  was  a  thick  Tur- 
key carpet  on  the  floor,  and  the  many  windows  were  flung 
wide  open,  so  that  the  summer  breeze,  coming  in  fresh  and 
sweet  from  this  great  height,  made  the  whole  loTely  room 
as  fresh  and  cheery  and  full  of  sweet  perfume  as  if  its 
solitary  inmate  were  really  in  the  open  air. 

Iris,  however,  had  often  been  in  the  room  before,  and 
had  no  time  or  thought  now  to  give  to  its  appearance.  Her 
eyes  darted  to  the  sofa  on  which  her  young  mother  lay. 
Mrs.  Delaney  was  half-sitting  up,  and  looked  almost  too 
young  to  be  the  mother  of  a  child  as  big  as  Iris.  She  had 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  faces  God  ever  gave  to  anybody. 
It  was  not  BO  much  that  her  features  were  perfect,  but  they 
were  full  of  light,  full  of  soul,  and  such  a  very  loving  ex- 
pression beamed  in  her  eyes  that  no  man,  woman  or  child 
ever  looked  at  her  without  feeling  the;  best  in  their  natures 
coming  immediately  to  the  surface. 

As  to  little  Iris,  her  feelings  for  her  mother  were  quite 
beyond  any  words  to  express.  She  ran  up  to  her  now  and 
knelt  by  her  side. 

"Kiss  me,  Iris,"  said  Mrs.  Delaney. 


14  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Iris  put  up  her  soft,  rosebud  lips ;  they  met  the  equally 
soft  lips  of  the  mother. 

"You  are  much  better,  mummy;  are  you  not?"  said  the 
child,  in  an  eager,  half-passionate  whisper. 

"I  have  had  a  long  sleep,  darling,  and  I  am  rested,"  said 
Mrs.  Delaney.  "I  told  Fortune  to  call  you.  Father  is 
away  for  the  day.  I  thought  we  could  have  half  an  hour 
uninterrupted." 

"How  beautiful,  mother !  It  is  the  most  delightful 
thing  in  all  the  world  to  be  alone  with  you,  mummy." 

"Well,  bring  your  little  chair  and  sit  near  me,  Iris.  For- 
tune will  bring  in  tea  in  a  moment,  and  you  can  pour  it 
out.  You  shall  have  tea  with  me,  if  you  wish  it,  dar- 
ling." 

Iris  gave  a  sigh  of  rapture;  she  was  too  happy  almost 
for  words.  This  was  almost  invariably  the  case  when  she 
found  herself  in  her  mother's  presence.  When  with  her 
mother  she  was  quiet  and  seldom  spoke  a  great  deal.  In 
the  garden  with  the  other  children  Iris  was  the  one  who 
chattered  most,  but  with  her  mother  her  words  were  always 
few.  She  felt  herself  then  to  be  more  or  less  in  a  listening 
attitude.  She  listened  for  the  words  which  dropped  from 
those  gentle  lips;  she  was  always  on  the  lookout  for  the 
love-light  which  filled  the  soft  brown*  eyes. 

At  that  moment  the  old  servant,  Fortune,  brought  in 
the  tea  on  a  pretty  tray  and  laid  it  on  a  small  table  near 
Mrs.  Delaney.  Then  Iris  got  up,  and  with  an  important 
air  poured  it  out  and  brought  a  cup,  nicely  prepared,  to 
her  mother. 

Mrs.  Delaney  sipped  her  tea  and  looked  from  time  to 


The  Poor  Innocent.  15 

time  at  her  little  daughter.  When  she  did  so,  Iris  devoured 
her  with  anxious  eyes. 

"No,"  she  said  to  herself,  "mother  does  not  look  ill — 
not  even  very  tired.  She  is  not  like  anybody  else,  and  that 
is  why — why  she  wears  that  wonderful,  almost  holy  ex- 
pression. Sometimes  I  wish  she  did  not,  but  I  would  not 
change  her,  not  for  all  the  world/' 

Iris'  heart  grew  quiet.  Her  cup  of  bliss  was  quite  full. 
She  scarcely  touched  her  tea;  she  was  too  happy  even  to 
eat." 

"Have  you  had  enough  tea,  mother?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"Yes,  darling.  Please  push  the  tea-table  a  little  aside, 
and  then  come  up  very  near  to  me.  I  want  to  hold  your 
dear  little  hand  in  mine;  I  can't  talk  much." 

"But  you  are  better — you  are  surely  better,  mother?" 

"In  one  sense,  yes,  Iris." 

Iris  moved  the  tea-table  very  deftly  aside,  and  then, 
drawing  up  her  small  chair,  slipped  her  hand  inside  her 
mother's. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  you,  Iris,"  said  the 
mother.  She  looked  at  the  little  girl  for  a  full  minute, 
and  then  began  to  talk  in  a  low,  clear  voice.  "I  am  the 
mother  of  four  children.  I  don't  think  there  are  any 
other  children  like  you  four  in  the  wide  world.  I  have 
thought  a  great  deal  about  you,  and  while  I  have  been  ill 
have  prayed  to  God  to  keep  you  and  to  help  me,  and  now, 
Iris,  now  that  I  have  got  to  go  away " 

"To  go  away,  mother?"  interrupted  Iris,  turning  very 
pale. 


16  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Yes,  dearest.  Don't  be  troubled,  darling;  I  can  make 
it  all  seem  quite  happy  to  you.  But  now,  when  I  see  it 
must  be  done,  that  I  must  undertake  this  very  long  jour- 
ney, I  want  to  put  things  perfectly  straight  between  you 
and  me,  my  little  daughter/' 

"Things  have  always  been  straight  between  us,  mother/' 
said  Iris.  "I  don't  quite  understand." 

"Do  you  remember  the  time  when  I  went  to  Australia  ?" 

"Are  you  going  to  Australia  again?"  asked  Iris.  "You 
were  a  whole  year  away  then.  It  was  a  very  long  time, 
and  sometimes,  mother,  sometimes  Fortune  was  a  little 
cross,  and  Miss  Stevenson  never  seemed  to  suit  Apollo.  I 
thought  I  would  tell  you  about  that." 

"But  Fortune  means  well,  dearest.  She  has  your  true 
interest  at  heart,  and  I  think  matters  will  be  differently 
arranged,  as  far  as  Miss  Stevenson  is  concerned,  in  the 
future.  It  is  not  about  her  or  Fortune  I  want  to  speak 
now." 

"And  you  are  going  back  to  Australia  again?" 

"I  am  going  quite  as  far  as  Australia ;  but  we  need  not 
talk  of  the  distance  just  now.  I  have  not  time  for  many 
words,  nor  very  much  strength  to  speak.  You  know,  Iris, 
the  meaning  of  your  names,  don't  you  ?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  Iris;  "and,  mother,  I  have  often 
talked  to  the  others  about  our  names.  I  have  told  Apollo 
how  beautiful  he  must  try  to  be,  not  only  in  his  face,  but 
in  his  mind,  mother,  and  how  brave  and  how  clever.  I 
have  told  him  that  he  must  try  to  have  a  beautiful  soul; 
and  Orion  must  be  very  brave  and  strong,  and  Diana  must 


The  Poor  Innocent.  17 

be  bright  and  sparkling  and  noble.  Yes,  mother;  we  all 
know  about  our  names." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Delaney.  "I  gave  you 
the  names  for  a  purpose.  I  wanted  you  to  have  names 
with  meaning  to  them.  I  wanted  you  to  try  to  live  up  to 
them.  Now,  Iris,  that  I  am  really  going  away,  I  am 
afraid  you  children  will  find  a  great  many  things  altered. 
You  have  hitherto  lived  a  very  sheltered  life;  you  have 
just  had  the  dear  old  garden  and  the  run  of  the  house, 
and  you  have  seen  your  father  or  me  every  day.  But  af- 
terwards, when  I  have  gone,  you  will  doubtless  have  to  go 
into  the  world;  and,  my  darling,  my  darling,  the  cold 
world  does  not  always  understand  the  meaning  of  names 
like  yours,  the  meaning  of  strength  and  beauty  and  noble- 
ness, and  of  bright,  sparkling,  and  high  ideas.  In  short, 
my  little  girl,  if  you  four  children  are  to  be  worthy  of 
your  names  and  to  fulfill  the  dreams,  the  longings,  the 
hopes  I  have  centered  around  you,  there  is  nothing  what- 
ever for  you  to  do  but  to  begin  to  fight  your  battles." 

Iris  was  silent.  She  had  very  earnest  eyes,  something 
like  her  mother's  in  expression.  They  were  fixed  now  on 
Mrs.  Delaney*s  face. 

"I  will  not  explain  exactly  what  I  mean,"  said  the 
mother,  giving  the  little  hand  a  loving  squeeze,  "only 
to  assure  you,  Iris,  that,  as  the  trial  comes,  strength  will 
be  given  to  you  to  meet  it.  Please  understand,  my  darling, 
that  from  first  to  last,  to  the  end  of  life,  it  is  all  a  fight. 
The  road  winds  up-hill  all  the  way.'  If  you  will  remem- 
ber that  you  will  not  think  things  half  as  hard,  and  you 
will  be  brave  and  strong,  and,  like  the  rainbow,  you  will 


18  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

cheer  people  even  in  the  darkest  hours.  But,  Iris,  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  one  thing — I  want  you,  my  little  girl, 
to  be  a  mother  to  the  others." 

"A  mother  to  the  others?"  said  Iris,  half  aloud.  She 
paused  and  did  not  speak  at  all  for  a  moment,  her  imag- 
ination was  very  busy.  She  thought  of  all  the  creatures 
to  whom  she  was  already  a  mother,  not  only  her  own  dear 
pets — the  mice  in  their  cages,  the  silkworms,  the  three 
dogs,  the  stray  cat,  the  pet  Persian  cat,  the  green  frogs,  the 
poor  innocents,  as  the  children  called  worms — but  in  addi- 
tion to  these,  all  creatures  that  suffered  in  the  animal 
kingdom,  all  flowers  that  were  about  to  fade,  all  sad 
things  that  seemed  to  need  care  and  comfort.  But  up  to 
the  present  she  had  never  thought  of  the  other  children 
except  as  her  equals.  Apollo  was  only  a  year  younger 
than  herself,  and  in  some  ways  braver  and  stouter  and 
more  fearless;  and  Orion  and  Diana  were  something  like 
their  names — very  bright  and  even  fierce  at  times.  She, 
after  all,  was  the  gentlest  of  the  party,  and  she  was  very 
young — not  more  than  ten  years  of  age.  How  could  she 
possibly  be  a  mother  to  the  others? 

She  looked  at  Mrs.  Delaney,  and  her  mother  gazed  sol- 
emnly at  her,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"After  all,"  thought  Iris,  "to  satisfy  the  longing  in 
mother's  eyes  is  the  first  thing  of  all.  I  will  promise,  cost 
what  it  may." 

"Yes,"  she  said;  then  softly,  "I  will,  mother;  I  will  be 
a  mother  to  the  others." 

"Kiss  me,  Iris." 


The  Poor  Innocent.  19 

The  little  girl  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck; 
their  lips  met  in  a  long  embrace. 

"Darling,  you  understand?  I  am  satisfied  with  your 
promise,  and  I  am  tired." 

"Must  I  go  away,  mother  ?  May  not  I  stay  very  quietly 
with  you?  Can  you  not  sleep  if  I  am  in  the  room?" 

"I  would  rather  you  left  me  now.  I  can  sleep  better 
when  no  one  is  by.  Ring  the  bell  for  Fortune  as  you  go. 
She  will  come  and  make  me  comfortable.  Yes ;  I  am  very 
tired." 

"One  moment  first,  mummy — you  have  not  told  me  yet 
when  you  are  going  on  the  journey." 

"The  day  is  not  quite  fixed,  Iris,  although  it  is — yes,  it 
is  nearly  so." 

"And  you  have  not  said  where  you  are  going,  mother. 
I  should  like  to  tell  the  others." 

But  Mrs.  Delaney  had  closed  her  eyes,  and  did  not  make 
any  reply. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  LITTLE  MOTHER  TO  THE  OTHERS. 

That  night  the  children's  young  mother  went  on  her 
journey.  The  summons  for  her  to  go  came  unexpectedly, 
as  it  often  does  in  the  end.  She  had  not  even  time  to 
say  good-by  to  the  children,  nor  to  her  husband,  only 
just  a  brief  moment  to  look,  with  startled  eyes,  at  the 
wonderful  face  of  the  angel  who  had  come  to  fetch  her, 
and  then  with  a  smile  of  bliss  to  let  him  clasp  her  in  his 
arms  and  feel  his  strong  wings  round  her,  and  then  she 
was  away,  beyond  the  lovely  house  and  the  beautiful  gar- 
den, and  the  children  sleeping  quietly  in  their  beds,  and 
the  husband  who  was  slumbering  by  her  side — beyond  the 
tall  trees  and  the  peaks  of  the  highest  mountains,  beyond 
the  stars  themselves,  until  finally  she  entered  the  portals 
of  a  home  that  is  everlasting,  and  found  herself  in  a 
land  where  the  flowers  do  not  fade. 

In  the  morning  the  children  were  told  that  their  mother 
was  dead.  They  all  cried,  and  everyone  thought  it  dread- 
fully sad,  except  Iris,  who  knew  better.  It  was  Fortune 
who  brought  in  the  news  to  the  children — they  had  just 
gone  into  the  day-nursery  at  the  time. 

Fortune  was  a  stern  woman,  somewhat  over  fifty  years 
of  age.  She  was  American  by  birth,  and  had  lived  with 
20 


A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others.  21 

Mrs.  Delaney  since  Iris  was  born.  Mrs.  Delaney  was 
also  American,  which  may  have  accounted  for  some  of  her 
bright  fancies,  and  quiet,  yet  sweet  and  quick  ways.  For- 
tune was  very  fond  of  the  children  after  her  fashion,  which 
was,  however,  as  a  rule,  somewhat  severe  and  exacting. 
But  to-day,  in  her  bitter  grief,  she  sank  down  on  the 
nearest  chair,  and  allowed  them  all  to  crowd  round  her, 
and  cried  bitterly,  and  took  little  Orion  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  him  and  petted  him,  and  begged  of  each  child  to 
forgive  her  for  ever  having  been  cross  or  disagreeable,  and 
promised,  as  well  and  as  heartily  as  she  could,  never  to 
transgress  again  in  that  manner  as  long  as  she  lived. 

While  the  others  were  sobbing  and  crying  round  For- 
tune, Iris  stood  silent. 

"Where  is  father?"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  very  quiet  but 
determined  voice. 

Fortune  glanced  round  at  the  grave  little  girl  in  some 
wonder. 

"Miss  Iris,"  she  said,  "you  are  not  even  crying." 

"What  do  tears  matter?"  answered  Iris.  "Please,  For- 
tune, where  is  father?  I  should  like  to  go  to  him." 

"He  is  locked  up  in  his  study,  darling,  and  could  not 
possibly  see  you  nor  anyone  else.  He  is  quite  stunned, 
master  is,  and  no  wonder.  You  cannot  go  to  him  at  pres- 
ent, Miss  Iris." 

Iris  did  not  say  another  word,  but  she  looked  more 
grave  and  more  thoughtful  than  ever.  After  a  long  pause 
she  sat  down  in  her  own  little  chair  near  the  open  window. 
It  was  a  very  lovely  day,  just  as  beautiful  as  the  one  which 
had  preceded  it.  As  the  child  sat  by  the  window,  and  the 


22  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

soft,  sweet  breeze  fanned  her  pale  cheeks,  an  indescribable 
longing  came  over  her.  No  one  was  particularly  noticing 
her.  She  crept  softly  out  of  the  room,  ran  down  some 
passages,  and  at  last  found  herself  once  more  mounting 
the  turret  stairs  to  the  tower.  A  moment  later  she  had 
entered  the  octagon  room  where  she  and  her  mother  had 
talked  together  on  the  previous  day.  The  windows  were 
wide  open,  the  pretty  room  looked  just  as  usual,  but 
mother's  sofa  was  vacant.  Iris  went  straight  over  to  one 
of  the  open  windows,  knelt  down,  and  put  her  little  elbows 
on  the  ledge. 

"Yes,  mother,"  she  said,  speaking  aloud  and  looking 
full  up  at  the  bright  blue  sky,  "I  promise  you.  I  prom- 
ised you  yesterday,  but  I  make  a  fresh,  very,  very  solemn 
promise  to-day.  Yes,  I  will  be  a  mother  to  the  others; 
I  will  try  never  to  think  of  myself;  I  will  remember, 
mother  darling,  exactly  what  you  want  me  to  do.  I  will 
try  to  be  beautiful,  to  be  a  little  messenger  of  the  gods, 
as  you  sometimes  said  I  might  be,  and  to  be  like  the  rain- 
bow, full  of  hope.  And  I  will  try  to  help  Apollo  to  be  the 
most  beautiful  and  the  bravest  boy  in  the  world;  and, 
mother,  I  will  do  my  best  to  help  Diana  to  be  strong  and 
bright  and  full  of  courage;  and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for 
Orion — he  must  be  grand  like  a  giant,  so  that  he  may 
live  up  to  the  wonderful  name  you  have  given  him. 
Mother,  it  will  be  very  hard,  but  I  promise,  I  promise 
with  all  my  might,  to  do  everything  you  want  me  to  do. 
I  will  act  just  as  if  you  were  there  and  could  see,  mother, 
and  P^will  always  remember  that  it  is  beautiful  for  you 
to  have  gone  away,  for  while  you  were  here  you  had  so 


A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others.  23 

much  pain  and  so  much  illness.  I  won't  fret,  mother; 
no,  I  won't  fret — I  promise  to  be  a  mother  to  the  others, 
and  there  won't  be  any  time  to  fret." 

No  tears  came  to  Iris'  bright  eyes,  but  her  little  thin 
face  grew  paler  and  paler.  Presently  she  left  the  window 
and  went  slowly  downstairs  again. 

Fortune  had  now  left  the  other  children  to  themselves. 
They  were  scattered  about  the  bright  day  nursery,  looking 
miserable,  though  they  could  scarcely  tell  why. 

"I  don't  believe  a  bit  that  mother  is  never  coming  back," 
said  Orion,  in  a  stout,  determined  voice. 

He  was  a  very  handsome  little  fellow,  strongly  made — 
he  had  great  big  black  eyes  like  his  father's.  He  was 
standing  now  with  his  Noah's  ark  in  his  hand. 

"It  is  unfeeling  of  you  to  want  to  play  with  your  Noah's 
ark  to-day,  Orion,"  said  Apollo.  "Now,  do  you  think  I 
would  go  into  my  laboratory  and  try  to  make  a  thermome- 
ter?" 

"Well,  at  least,"  said  Diana,  speaking  with  a  sort  of 
jerk,  and  her  small  face  turning  crimson,  "whatever  hap- 
pens, the  animals  must  be  fed." 

"Of  course  they  must,  Diana,"  said  Iris,  coming  for- 
ward, "and,  Apollo,  there  is  not  the  least  harm  in  our 
going  into  the  garden,  and  I  don't  think  there  is  any 
harm  in  Orion  playing  with  his  Noah's  ark.  Come,  chil- 
dren; come  with  me.  We  will  feed  all  the  pets  and  then 
go  into  the  arbor,  and,  if  you  like,  I  will  tell  you  stories." 

"What  sort  of  stories?"  asked  Diana,  in  quite  a  cheer- 
ful voice.  She  trotted  up  to  her  sister,  and  gave  her  her 


24  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

hand  as  she  spoke.  She  also  was  a  finely  made  child,  not 
unlike  her  name. 

"I  'gree  with  Orion/'  she  said.  "I'm  quite  certain  sure 
that  mother  is  coming  back  'fore  long.  Fortune  did  talk 
nonsense^  She  said,  Iris — do  you  know  what  she  said? — 
she  said  that  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  just  when  it  was 
black  dark,  you  know,  a  white  angel  came  into  the  room 
and  took  mother  in  his  arms  and  flew  up  to  the  sky  with 
her.  You  don't  believe  that;  do  you,  Iris?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Diana,"  answered  Iris.  "But  I  will  tell  you 
more  about  it  in  the  arbor.  Come,  Apollo;  mother  would 
not  like  us  to  stay  in  the  house  just  because  she  has  gone 
away  to  the  angels.  Mother  never  was  the  least  little  bit 
selfish.  Come  into  the  garden." 

The  three  forlorn-looking  little  children  were  much 
comforted  by  Iris'  brave  words.  They  dried  their  eyes, 
and  Diana  ran  into  the  night  nursery  to  fetch  their  hats. 
They  then  ran  downstairs  without  anyone  specially  notic- 
ing them,  passed  through  the  great  entrance  hall,  and 
out  on  to  the  wide  gravel  sweep,  which  led  by  a  side  walk 
into  the  lovely  garden. 

Iris  held  Diana  by  one  hand  and  Orion  by  the  other, 
and  Apollo  ran  on  in  front. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Iris,  when  they  had  reached  the 
garden,  "we  must  begin  by  feeding  all  the  pets." 

"There  are  an  awful  lot  of  them,"  said  Diana,  in  quite 
a  cheerful  voice;  "and  don't  you  remember,  Iris,  the  poor 
innocent  was  not  buried  yesterday?" 

Iris  could  not  help  giving  a  little  shiver. 

"No  more  it  was,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.     "It  must 


A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others.  25 

have  quite  a  private  funeral.    Please  get  some  dock  leaves, 
Apollo." 

"Yes,"  answered  Apollo. 

He  ran  off,  returning  with  a  bunch  in  a  moment  or  two. 

"Take  them  into  the  dead-house,"  said  Iris,  "and  sew 
them  up  and  put  the  poor  innocent  inside,  and  then  take 
your  spade  and  dig  a  hole  in  the  cemetery.  We  can't 
have  a  public  funeral.  I — I  don't  feel  up  to  it,"  she 
added,  her  lips  trembling  for  the  first  time. 

Diana  nestled  close  up  to  Iris. 

"You  need  not  look  sad,  Iris,"  she  said;  "there's  no 
cause,  is  there?  I  don't  believe  that  story  'bout  mother, 
and  if  it  is  not  true  there'll  be  nothing  wrong  in  my 
laughing,  will  there  ?" 

"You  may  laugh  if  you  like,  darling,"  answered  Iris. 

They  all  entered  the  arbor  now,  and  Iris  seated  herself 
in  the  little  chair  which  mother  had  seen  father  make, 
and  round  which  the  beautiful  flowers  of  the  iris  had  been 
carved. 

"Laugh,  Di,"  she  said  again;  "I  know  mother  won't 
mind." 

For  a  full  moment  Diana  stood  silent,  staring  at  her 
sister ;  then  her  big  black  eyes,  which  had  been  full  of  the 
deepest  gloom,  brightened.  A  butterfly  passed  the  en- 
trance to  the  summer-house,  and  Diana  flew  after  it, 
chasing  it  with  a  loud  shout  and  a  gay,  hearty  fit  of 
laughter. 

Apollo  came  back  with  the  stray  cat,  whose  name  was 
"Trust,"  in  his  arms. 

"She  looks  miserable,  poor  thing,"  he  said.     "I  don't 


26  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

believe  she  has  had  anything  to  eat  to-day.  She  must  have 
her  breakfast,  as  usual;  must  she  not,  Iris?" 

"Yes;  we  must  feed  all  the  pets/'  said  Iris,  making  a 
great  effort  to  brighten  up.  "Let  us  go  regularly  to  work, 
all  of  us.  Apollo,  will  you  take  the  birds?  You  may 
as  well  clean  out  their  cages — they  are  sure  to  want  it. 
I  will  collect  flies  for  the  green  frogs,  and  Orion,  you  may 
pick  mulberry  leaves  for  the  silk-worms." 

For  the  next  hour  the  children  were  busily  employed. 
No  one  missed  them  in  the  house.  The  house  was  full 
of  shade,  but  the  garden,  although  mother  had  left  it  for- 
ever, was  quite  bright;  the  sun  shone  as  brilliantly  as  it 
did  every  other  day;  a  great  many  fresh  flowers  had  come 
out;  there  was  a  very  sweet  smell  from  the  opening  roses, 
and  in  especially  the  Scotch  roses,  white  and  red,  made  a 
waft  of  delicious  perfume  as  the  children  ran  up  and  down. 

"I'm  awfully  hungry,"  said  Diana  suddenly. 

"But  we  won't  go  into  the  house  for  lunch  to-day," 
said  Iris.  "Let  us  have  a  fruit  lunch — I  think  mother 
would  like  us  to  have  a  fruit  lunch  just  for  to-day.  Please, 
Apollo,  go  into  the  other  garden  and  pick  some  of  the 
ripest  strawberries.  There  were  a  great  many  ripe  yes- 
terday, and  there  are  sure  to  be  more  to-day.  Bring  a 
big  leaf  full,  and  we  can  eat  them  in  the  summer-house." 

Apollo  ran  off  at  once.  He  brought  back  a  good  large 
leaf  of  strawberries,  and  Iris  divided  them  into  four  por- 
tions. Diana  and  Orion,  seated  on  their  little  chairs,  ate 
theirs  with  much  gusto,  and  just  as  happily  as  if  mother 
had  not  gone  away;  but  as  to  Iris,  notwithstanding  her 
brave  words  and  her  determination  not  to  think  of  her- 


A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others.  27 

self,  the  strawberries  tasted  like  wood  in  her  mouth. 
There  was  also  a  great  lump  in  her  throat,  and  a  feeling 
of  depression  was  making  itself  felt  more  and  more, 
moment  by  moment. 

Apollo  sat  down  beside  his  sister,  and  glanced  from 
time  to  time  into  her  face. 

"I  cannot  think  why  I  don't  really  care  for  the  straw- 
berries to-day,"  he  said  suddenly.  "I "  His  lips 

trembled.  "Iris,"  he  said,  gazing  harder  than  ever  at  his 
sister,  "you  have  got  such  a  queer  look  on  your  face." 

"Don't  notice  it,  please,  Apollo,"  answered  Iris. 

"I  wish  3'ou  would  cry,"  said  the  boy.  "When  Fortune 
came  in  and  told  us  the — the  dreadful  news,  we  all  cried 
and  we  kissed  her,  and  she  cried  and  she  said  she  was 
sorry  she  had  ever  been  unkind  to  us;  but  I  remember, 
Iris,  you  did  not  shed  one  tear,  and  you — you  always 
seemed  to  love,  mother  the  best  of  us  all." 

"And  I  love  her  still  the  best,"  said  Iris,  in  a  soft 
voice;  "but,  Apollo,  I  have  something  else  to  do."  And 
then  she  added,  lowering  her  tones,  "You  know,  I  can't 
be  sorry  about  mother  herself.  I  can  only  be  glad  about 
her." 

"Glad  about  mother !  Glad  that  she  is  dead !"  said  the 
boy. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  about  that  part,"  said  Iris.  "She 
is  not  dead — not  really.  She  is  only  away  up  above  the 
stars  and  the  blue  sky,  and  she  will  never  have  any  more 
suffering,  and  she  will  always  be  as  happy  as  happy  can  be, 
find  sometime  or  other,  Apollo,  I  think  she  will  be  able  to 


28  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

come  back;  and,  if  she  can,  I  am  sure  she  will.  Yes,  I 
am  quite  sure  she  will." 

"If  she  comes  back  we  shall  see  her,"  said  Apollo;  <cbut 
she  can't  come  back,  Iris.  Dead  people  can't  come  back." 

"Oh,  please,  don't  call  her  that,"  said  Iris,  with  a  note 
of  great  pain  in  her  voice. 

"But  Fortune  says  that  mother  is  dead,  just  like  any- 
body else,  and  in  a  few  days  she  will  be  put  into  the 
ground.  Oh,  Iris !  I  am  frightened  when  I  think  of  it. 
Mother  was  BO  lovely,  and  to  think  of  their  putting  her 
into  the  ground  in  a  box  just  like — like  we  put  the  poor 
innocent  and  the  other  creatures,  and  if  that  is  the  case 
she  can  never  come  back — never,  never,  never !" 

The  little  boy  buried  his  black  head  of  curling  hair  on 
his  sister's  knee,  and  gave  vent  to  a  great  burst  of  tears. 

"But  it  is  not  true,  Apollo,"  said  Iris.  "I  mean  in  one 
way  it  is  not  true — I  can't  explain  it,  but  I  know.  Let  us 
forget  all  the  dark,  dreadful  part — let  us  think  of  her, 
the  real  mother,  the  mother  that  looked  at  us  out  of  her 
beautiful  eyes;  she  is  not  dead,  she  has  only  gone  away, 
and  she  wants  us  all  to  be  good,  so  that  we  may  join  her 
some  day.  She  called  me  after  the  rainbow,  and  after 
the  messenger  of  the  gods;  and  you,  Apollo,  after  the 
bravest  and  the  most  beautiful  boy  that  was  supposed  ever 
to  live;  and  Diana,  too,  was  called  after  a  great  Greek 
goddess;  and  Orion  after  the  most  lovely  star  in  all  the 
world.  Oh,  surely  we  four  little  children  ought  to  try 
to  be  great,  and  good,  and  brave,  if  we  are  ever  to  meet 
our  mother  again !" 


A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others.  29 

"Well,  it  is  all  very  puzzling,"  said  Apollo,  "and  I  can't 
understand  things  the  way  you  can,  Iris,  and  I  have  an 
awful  ache  in  my  throat.  I  am  hungry,  and  yet  I  am  not 
hungry.  I  love  strawberries  as  a  rule,  but  I  hate  them 
to-day.  If  only  father  would  come  and  talk  to  us  it  would 
not  be  quite  so  bad;  but  Fortune  said  we  were  not  to  go 
to  him,  that  he  was  shut  up  in  his  study,  and  that  he  was 
very  unhappy.  She  said  that  he  felt  it  all  dreadfully 
about  mother." 

"Iris,"  said  Diana's  voice  at  that  moment,  "we  are  not 
surely  to  have  any  lessons  to-day?" 

She  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  summer-house,  and 
was  looking  in. 

"Lessons  ?"  said  Iris.  She  put  up  her  hand  to  her  fore- 
head in  a  dazed  manner. 

"Yes;  do  be  quick  and  say.  Miss  Stevenson  is  coming 
down  the  garden  path.  I  do  think  that  on  the  very  day 
when  mother  has  gone  away  it  would  be  hard  if  we  were 
to  have  lessons;  and  if  what  you  say  is  true,  Iris,  and 
mother  is  happy,  why,  it  does  not  seem  fair,  does  it  ?  We 
ought  to  have  a  whole  holiday  to-day,  ought  we  not  ?  Just 
as  if  it  was  a  birthday,  you  know." 

"I  think  so  too,"  said  Orion,  with  a  shout.  "I  don't 
think  we  need  be  bothered  with  old  Stevie  to-day."  He 
raised  his  voice,  and  ran  to  meet  her.  "You  are  not  to 
give  us  any  lessons  to-day,  Stevie,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  holi- 
day, a  great,  lig  holiday — it  is  a  sort  of  birthday.  We 
were  all  eating  strawberries,  for  Iris  said  we  were  not  to 
go  back  to  the  house." 


30  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Oh,  my  poor,  dear,  little  boy !"  said  Miss  Stevenson. 
She  was  a  kind-hearted,  although  old-fashioned,  governess. 
She  bent  down  now  and  kissed  Orion,  and  tried  to  take 
one  of  his  very  dirty  little  hands  in  hers. 

"My  dear  little  children "  she  began  again. 

"Please,  Miss  Stevenson,  don't  pity  us,"  said  Iris. 

Miss  Stevenson  started. 

"My  dear  Iris,"  she  said,  "you  don't  realize  what  it 
means." 

"I  do,"  answered  Iris  stoutly. 

"And  I  know  what  Iris  means,"  said  Apollo;  "I  know 
quite  well.  I  feel  miserable;  I  have  got  a  pain  in  my 
throat,  and  I  cannot  eat  my  strawberries ;  but  Iris  says  we 
ought  not  fret,  for  mother  is  much  better  off." 

"Then,  if  mother  is  much  better  off,  we  ought  to  have 
a  holiday,  same  as  if  it  was  a  birthday ;  ought  we  not,  Miss 
Stevenson?"  said  Diana,  puckering  up  her  face  and  look- 
ing, with  her  keen  black  eyes,  full  at  her  governess. 

"You  poor  little  innocents,  what  is  to  become  of  you 
all?"  said  Miss  Stevenson. 

She  entered  the  summer-house  as  she  spoke,  sank  down 
on  the  nearest  chair,  and  burst  into  tears.  The  four  chil- 
dren surrounded  her.  They  none  of  them  felt  inclined 
to  cry  at  that  moment.  Orion,  after  staring  at  her  for 
some  little  time,  gave  her  a  sharp  little  tap  on  her  arm. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?"  he  said.  "Don't  you 
think  you  are  rather  stupid?" 

"You  poor  innocents !"  said  Miss  Stevenson. 

"Please  don't  call  us  that,"  said  Diana;  "that  is  oni 


A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others.  31 

name  for  the  worms.  Worms  can't  see,  you  know,  and 
they  are  not  to  blame  for  being  only  worms,  and  some- 
times they  get  trodden  on ;  and  Iris  thought  we  might  call 
them  innocents,  and  we  have  always  done  so  since  she  gave 
us  leave;  but  we  would  rather  not  be  called  by  quite  the 
same  name." 

Miss  Stevenson  hastily  dried  her  eyes. 

"You  certainly  are  the  most  extraordinary  little  crea- 
tures," she  said.  "Don't  you  feel  anything?" 

"It  would  be  horrid  selfish  to  be  sorry,"  said  Diana. 
"Iris  said  that  mother  is  awfully  happy  now." 

Miss  Stevenson  stared  at  the  children  as  if  they  were 
bewitched. 

"And  we  are  not  to  have  lessons,  Stevie,"  said  Orion; 
"that's  settled,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  my  dear  little  child !  I  was  not  thinking  of  your 
lessons.  It  is  your  terrible — your  terrible  loss  that  fills 
my  mind;  that  and  your  want  of  understanding.  Iris, 
you  are  ten  years  old;  I  am  surprised  at  you." 

Iris  stood,  looking  very  grave  and  silent,  a  step  or  two 
away. 

"Please,  Miss  Stevenson,"  she  said,  after  a  long  pause, 
"don't  try  to  understand  us,  for  I  am  afraid  it  would  be 
of  no  use.  Mother  talked  to  me  yesterday,  and  I  know 
quite  what  to  do.  Mother  asked  me  to  be  a  mother  to  the 
others,  so  I  have  no  time  to  cry,  nor  to  think  of  myself  at 
all.  If  you  will  give  us  a  holiday  to-day,  will  you  please 
go  away  and  let  us  stay  together,  for  I  think  I  can  man- 
age the  others  if  I  am  all  alone  with  them?" 

Miss  Stevenson  rose  hastily. 


32  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"I  thought  you  would  all  have  been  overwhelmed/'  she 
said.  "I  thought  if  ever  children  loved  their  mother  you 
four  did.  Oh !  how  stunned  I  feel !  Yes,  I  will  certainly 
go — I  don't  profess  to  understand  any  of  you." 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  AUNT. 

About  a  week  after  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter, 
on  a  certain  lovely  day  in  June,  a  hired  fly  might  have 
been  seen  ascending  the  steep  avenue  to  Delaney  Manor. 
The  fly  had  only  one  occupant — a  round,  roly-poly  sort  of 
little  woman.  She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and 
the  windows  of  the  fly  being  wide  open,  she  constantly 
poked  her  head  out,  now  to  the  right  and  now  to  the  left, 
to  look  anxiously  and  excitedly  around  her. 

After  gazing  at  the  magnificent  view,  had  anyone  been 
there  to  look,  they  might  have  observed  her  shaking  her 
head  with  great  solemnity.  She  had  round  black  eyes, 
and  a  rather  dark-complexioned  face,  with  a  good  deal  of 
color  in  her  cheeks.  She  was  stoutly  built,  but  the  ex- 
pression on  her  countenance  was  undoubtedly  cheerful. 
Nothing  signified  gloom  about  her  except  her  heavy 
mourning.  Her  eyes,  although  shrewd  and  full  of  com- 
mon sense,  were  also  kindly ;  her  lips  were  very  firm ;  there 
was  a  matter-of-fact  expression  about  her  whole  appear- 
ance. 

"Now,  why  does  David  waste  all  those  acres  of  splendid 
land?"  she  muttered  angrily  to  herself.  "The  whole 
place,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  seems  to  be  laid  out  in  grass. 
33 


34  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

I  know  perfectly  well  that  this  is  an  agricultural  country, 
and  yet,  when  produce  is  so  precious,  what  do  I  see  but  a 
lawn  here  and  another  lawn  there,  and  not  even  cows 
feeding  on  them.  Oh,  yes !  of  course  there  is  the  park ! 
The  park  is  right  enough,  and  no  one  wants  to  interfere 
with  that.  But  why  should  all  the  land  in  that  direction, 
and  in  that  direction,  and  in  that  direction" — here  she 
put  out  her  head  again  and  looked  frantically  about  her — 
"why  should  all  that  land  be  devoted  to  mere  ornament? 
It  seems  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  tempting  of  Provi- 
dence." Here  she  suddenly  raised  her  voice.  "Driver," 
she  said,  "have  the  goodness  to  poke  up  your  horse,  and 
to  go  a  little  faster.  I  happen  to  be  in  a  hurry." 

"  'Orse  won't  do  it,  ma'am,"  was  the  response.  "Steep 
'ill  this.  Can't  go  no  faster." 

The  little  lady  gave  an  indignant  snort,  and  retired 
once  more  into  the  depths  of  the  gloomy  fly.  Presently 
a  bend  in  the  avenue  brought  the  old  manor  house  into 
view.  Once  more  she  thrust  out  her  head  and  examined 
it  critically. 

"There  it  stands,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  was  very 
happy  at  the  Manor  as  a  girl.  I  wonder  if  the  old  garden 
still  exists.  Twenty  to  one  it  has  been  done  away  with: 
there's  no  saying.  Evangel  ine  had  such  dreadfully  queer 
ideas.  Yes,  there  stands  the  house,  and  I  do  hope  some 
remnants  of  the  garden  are  in  existence;  but  the  thing 
above  all  others  to  consider  now  is,  what  kind  these  chil- 
dren are.  Poor  David,  he  was  quite  mad  about  Evangeline 
— not  that  I  ever  pretended  to  understand  her.  She  was 
an  American,  and  I  hate  the  Americans;  yes,  I  cordially 


The  Arrival  of  the  Aunt.  35 

hate  them.  Poor  David,  however,  was  devoted — oh,  it 
was  melancholy,  melancholy !  I  suppose  it  was  on  account 
of  Evangeline  that  all  this  splendid  land  has  been  allowed 
to  lie  fallow — not  even  cows,  not  even  a  stray  sheep  to  eat 
all  that  magnificent  grass.  Wherever  I  turn  I  see  flower- 
beds— flower-beds  sloping  away  to  east  and  west,  as  far 
almost  as  the  eye  can  travel.  And  so  there  are  four  chil- 
dren. I  have  no  doubt  they  are  as  queer,  and  old-fash- 
ioned, and  untrained  as  possible.  It  would  be  like  their 
mother  to  bring  them  up  in  that  sort  of  style.  Well,  at 
least  I  am  not  the  one  to  shirk  my  duty,  and  I  certainly 
see  it  now  staring  me  in  the  face.  I  am  the  wife  of  a 
hard-working  vicar;  I  work  hard  myself,  and  I  have  five 
children  of  my  own ;  but  never  mind,  I  am  prepared  to  do 
my  best  for  those  poor  deserted  orphans.  Ah,  and  here  we 
are  at  last !  That  is  a  comfort." 

The  rickety  old  fly  drew  up  with  a  jerk  opposite  the 
big  front  entrance,  and  Mrs.  Dolman  got  out.  She  was 
short  in  stature,  but  her  business-like  manner  and  atti- 
tude were  unmistakable.  As  soon  as  ever  she  set  foot  on 
the  ground  she  turned  to  the  man. 

"Put  the  portmanteau  down  on  the  steps,"  she  said. 
"You  need  not  wait.  What  is  your  fare?" 

The  fly-driver  named  a  price,  which  she  immediately 
disputed. 

"Nonsense !"  she  said.  "Eight  shillings  for  driving  me 
from  the  station  here?  Why,  it  is  only  five  miles." 

"It  is  nearly  seven,  ma'am,  and  all  uphill.  I  really 
cannot  do  it  for  a  penny  less." 

"Then  you  are  an  impostor.     I  shall  complain  of  you." 


36  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  stately  footmen  threw  open 
the  hall  door  and  stared  at  Mrs.  Dolman. 

"Take  my  portmanteau  in  immediately,  if  you  please," 
she  said,  "and  pray  tell  me  if  your  master  is  at  home." 

"Yes,  madam,"  was  the  grave  reply.  "But  Mr.  Delaney 
is  not  seeing  company  at  present." 

"He  will  see  me,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "Have  the  good- 
ness to  tell  him  that  his  sister  has  arrived,  and  please  also 
see  that  my  luggage  is  taken  to  my  room — and  oh,  I  say, 
wait  one  moment.  What  is  the  fare  from  Beaminster  to 
Delaney  Manor?" 

The  grave-looking  footman  and  the  somewhat  surly 
driver  of  the  cab  exchanged  a  quick  glance.  Immediately 
afterwards  the  footman  named  eight  shillings  in  a  voice 
of  authority. 

"Preposterous !"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "but  I  suppose  I 
must  pay  it,  or,  rather,  you  can  pay  it  for  me;  I'll  settle 
with  you  afterwards." 

"Am  I  to  acquaint  my  master  that  you  have  come, 
madam  ?" 

"No;  on  second  thoughts  I  should  prefer  to  announce 
myself.  Where  did  you  say  Mr.  Delaney  was?" 

"In  his  private  study." 

"I  know  that  room  well.  See  that  my  luggage  is  taken 
to  a  bedroom,  and  pay  the  driver." 

Mrs.  Dolman  entered  the  old  house  briskly.  It  felt 
quiet,  remarkably  quiet,  seeing  that  there  was  a  large  staff 
of  servants  and  four  vigorous,  healthy  children  to 
occupy  it. 

"Poor  little  orphans,  I  suppose  they    are    dreadfully 


The  Arrival  of  the  Aunt.  37 

overcome,"  thought  the  good  lady  to  herself.  ''Well,  I 
am  glad  I  have  appeared  on  the  scene.  Poor  David  is 
just  the  sort  of  man  who  would  forget  everybody  else 
when  he  is  in  a  state  of  grief.  Of  course  I  know  he  was 
passionately  attached  to  Evangeline,  and  she  certainly 
was  a  charming,  although  quite  incapable,  creature.  I 
suppose  she  was  what  would  be  termed  'a,  man's  woman/ 
Now,  I  have  never  any  patience  with  them,  and  when  i 
think  of  those  acres  of  land  and — but,  dear  me!  some- 
times a  matter-of-fact,  plain  body  like  myself  is  useful  in 
an  emergency.  The  emergency  has  arrived  with  a  ven- 
geance, and  I  am  determined  to  take  the  fortress  by 
storm." 

The  little  lady  trotted  down  one  or  two  passages,  then 
turned  abruptly  to  her  left,  and  knocked  at  a  closed  door. 
A  voice  said,  "Come  in."  She  opened  the  door  and  en- 
tered. A  man  was  standing  with  his  back  to  her  in  the 
deep  embrasure  of  a  mullioned  window.  His  hands  were 
clasped  behind  his  back;  he  was  looking  fixedly  out.  The 
window  was  wide  open. 

"There,  David,  there !  I  knew  you  would  take  it  hard ; 
but  have  the  goodness  to  turn  round  and  speak  to  me," 
said  Mrs.  Dolman. 

When  he  heard  these  unexpected  words,  the  master  of 
Delaney  Manor  turned  with  a  visible  start. 

"My  dear  Jane,  what  have  you  come  for  ?"  he  exclaimed. 
He  advanced  to  meet  his  sister,  dismay  evident  on  every 
line  of  his  face. 

"I  knew  you  would  not  welcome  mo,  David.  Oh,  no 
prevarications !  if  you  please.  It  is  awful  to  think  how 


38  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

many  lies  people  tell  in  the  cause  of  politeness.  When  I 
undertook  this  wearisome  journey  from  the  north  of  Eng- 
land, I  knew  I  should  not  be  welcome,  but  all  the  same  I 
came;  and,  David,  when  I  have  had  a  little  talk  with  you, 
and  when  you  have  unburdened  your  heart  to  me,  you  will 
feel  your  sorrow  less." 

"I  would  rather  not  touch  on  that  subject,"  said  Mr. 
Delaney.  He  offered  his  sister  a  chair  very  quietly,  and 
took  another  himself. 

Father,  as  Iris  used  to  say,  was  not  the  least  like  mother. 
Mother  had  the  gentlest,  the  sweetest,  the  most  angelic 
face  in  the  world;  she  never  spoke  loudly,  and  she  seldom 
laughed;  her  voice  was  low  and  never  was  heard  to  rise 
to  an  angry  tone.  Her  smile  was  like  the  sweetest  sun- 
shine, and  wherever  she  appeared  she  brought  an  atmos- 
phere of  peace  with  her.  But  father,  on  the  other  hand, 
although  an  excellent  and  loving  parent,  was,  when  in 
good  spirits,  given  to  hearty  laughter — given  to  loud, 
eager  words,  to  strong  exercise,  both  physical  and  mental. 
He  was,  as  a  rule,  a  very  active  man,  seldom  staying  still 
in  one  place,  but  bustling  here,  there  and  everywhere. 
He  was  fond  of  his  children,  and  petted  them  a  good  deal ; 
but  the  one  whom  he  really  worshiped  was  his  gentle  and 
loving  wife.  She  led  him,  although  he  did  not  know  it, 
by  silken  cords.  She  always  knew  exactly  how  to  manage 
him,  how  to  bring  out  his  fine  points.  She  never  rubbed 
him  the  wrong  way.  He  had  a  temper,  and  he  knew  it; 
but  in  his  wife's  presence  it  had  never  been  exasperated. 
His  sister,  however,  managed  to  set  it  on  edge  with  the 
very  first  words  she  uttered. 


The  Arrival  of  the  Aunt.  39 

"Of  course,  I  know  you  mean  well,  Jane,"  he  said, 
"and  I  ought  to  be  obliged  to  you  for  taking  all  this 
trouble.  Now  that  you  have  come,  you  are  welcome;  but 
I  must  ask  you  to  understand  immediately  that  I  will 
not  have  the  subject  of  my" — he  hesitated,  and  his  under 
lip  shook  for  a  moment — "the  subject  of  my  trouble 
alluded  to.  And  I  will  also  add  that  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred your  writing  to  me  beforehand.  This  taking  a  man 
by  storm  is,  you  know  of  old,  my  dear  Jane — not  agree- 
able to  me." 

"Precisely,  David.  I  did  not  write,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  I  thought  it  likely  you  would  have  asked  me 
not  to  come;  and  as  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  appear 
on  the  scene,  I  determined,  on  this  occasion,  to  take,  as 
you  express  it,  Delaney  Manor  by  storm." 

"Very  well,  Jane;  as  you  have  done  it  you  have  done 
it,  and  there  is  no  more  to  be  said." 

Mr.  Delaney  rose  from  his  seat  as  he  spoke. 

"Would  you  not  like  to  go  to  your  room,  and  wash  and 
change  your  dress?"  he  asked. 

"I  cannot  change  my  dress,  for  I  have  only  brought  one. 
I  will  go  to  my  room  presently.  What  hour  do  you 
dine?" 

"At  half-past  eight." 

"I  have  a  few  minutes  still  to  talk  to  you,  and  I  will 
not  lose  the  opportunity.  It  will  be  necessary  for  me  to 
return  home  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

An  expression  of  relief  swept  over  Mr.  Delaney^s  counte- 
nance. 

"I  shall,  therefore,"  continued  Mrs.  Dolman,  taking  no 


40  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

notice  of  this  look,  which  she  plainly  saw,  "have  but  little 
time  at  my  disposal,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  done. 
But  before  I  proceed  to  anything  else,  may  I  ask  you  a 
question?  How  could  you  allow  all  that  splendid  land 
to  lie  waste?" 

"What  land,  Jane?    What  do  you  mean?" 

'"Those  acres  of  grass  outside  the  house." 

"Are  you  alluding  to  the  lawns?" 

"I  don't  know  what  name  you  choose  to  call  all  that 
grass,  but  I  think  it  is  a  positive  tempting  of  Providence 
to  allow  so  much  land  to  lie  fallow.  Why,  you  might 
grow  potatoes  or  barley  or  oats,  and  make  pounds  and 
pounds  a  year.  I  know  of  old  what  the  land  round  De- 
laney  Manor  can  produce." 

"As  the  land  happens  to  belong  to  me,  perhaps  I  may 
be  allowed  to  arrange  it  as  pleases  myself,"  said  Mr.  De- 
laney,  in  a  haughty  tone. 

His  sister  favored  him  with  a  long,  reflective  gaze. 

"He  is  just  as  obstinate  as  ever,"  she  muttered  to  her- 
self. "With  that  cleft  in  his  chin,  what  else  can  be  ex- 
pected? There  is  no  use  bothering  him  on  that  point  at 
present,  and,  as  he  won't  allow  me  to  talk  of  poor  Evan- 
geline, — who  had,  poor  soul,  as  many  faults  as  I  ever  saw 
packed  into  a  human  being, — there  is  nothing  whatever 
for  me  to  do  but  to  look  up  those  children." 

Mrs.  Dolman  rose  from  her  seat  as  this  thought  came 
to  her. 

"I  am  tired,"  she  said.  "From  Yorkshire  to  Delaney 
Manor  is  a  long  journey,  as  perhaps  you  do  not  remember, 


The  Arrival  of  the  Aunt.  41 

David ;  so  I  will  seek  my  room  after  first  having  informed 
you  what  the  object  of  my  visit  is." 

"I  should  be  interested  to  know  that,  Jane,"  he  an- 
swered, in  a  somewhat  softened  tone. 

"Well,  seeing  I  am  the  only  sister  you  have " 

"But  we  never  did  pull  well  together,"  interrupted  he. 

"We  used  to  play  in  the  same  garden,"  she  answered, 
and  for  the  first  time  a  really  soft  and  affectionate  look 
came  irto  her  face.  "I  hope  to  goodness,  David,  that  the 
garden  is  not  altered." 

"It  is  much  the  same  as  always,  Jane.  The  children 
occupy  it  a  good  deal." 

"I  am  coming  to  the  subject  of  the  children.  Of  course, 
now  that  things  are  so  much  changed " 

"I  would  rather  not  go  into  that,"  said  Mr.  Delaney. 

"Dear  me,  David,  how  touchy  you  are!  Why  will  you 
not  accept  a  patent  fact?  I  have  no  wish  to  hurt  your 
feelings,  but  I  really  must  speak  out  plain  common  sense. 
I  was  always  noted  for  my  common  sense,  was  I  not?  I 
don't  believe,  in  the  length  and  breadth  of  England,  you 
will  find  better  behaved  children  than  my  five.  I  have 
brought  them  up  on  a  plan  of  my  own,  and  now  that  I 
come  here  at  great  trouble,  and,  I  may  also  add,  expense, 
to  try  and  help  you  in  your — oh,  of  course,  I  must  not  say 
it — to  try  and  help  you  when  you  want  help,  you  fight 
shy  of  my  slightest  word.  Well,  the  fact  is  this:  I  want 
you  to  take  my  advice,  and  to  shut  up  Delaney  Manor,  or, 
better  still,  to  let  it  well  for  the  next  two  or  three  years, 
and  go  abroad  yourself,  letting  me  have  the  children!" 

"My  dear  Jane!" 


42  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Oh,  I  am  your  dear  Jane  now — now  that  you  think  I 
can  help  you.  Well,  David,  I  mean  it,  and  what  is  more, 
the  matter  must  be  arranged.  I  must  take  the  children 
back  with  me  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Now  I  will  go 
to  my  bedroom,  as  I  am  dead  tired.  Perhaps  you  will 
ring  the  bell  and  ask  a  servant  to  take  me  there." 

Mr.  Delaney  moved  slowly  across  the  room.  He  rang 
the  electric  bell,  and  a  moment  later  the  footman  appeared 
in  answer  to  his  summons.  He  gave  certain  directions, 
and  Mrs.  Dolman  left  the  room. 

The  moment  he  found  himself  alone,  the  father  of 
the  children  sank  down  on  the  nearest  chair,  put  his 
hands  on  the  table,  pressed  his  face  down  on  them,  and 
uttered  a  bitter  groan. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RUB-A-DUB. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  Evangeline  ?"  said  Mr.  Delaney,  a 
few  moments  later.  He  stood  up  as  he  spoke,  shook  him- 
self, and  gazed  straight  before  him.  It  was  exactly  as  if 
he  were  really  speaking  to  the  children's  mother.  Then 
again  he  buried  his  face  in  his  big  hands,  and  his  strong 
frame  shook.  After  a  moment's  pause  he  took  up  a  photo- 
graph which  stood  near,  and  looked  earnestly  at  the  beau- 
tiful pictured  face.  The  eyes,  so  full  of  truth  and  tender- 
ness, seemed  to  answer  him  back.  He  started  abruptly  to 
his  feet.  "You  always  directed  me,  Evangeline,"  he  said. 
"God  only  knows  what  I  am  to  do  now  that  you  have  left 
me.  I  am  in  some  matters  as  weak  as  a  reed,  great,  blus- 
tering fellow  though  I  appear.  And  now  that  Jane  has 
come — she  always  did  bully  me — now  that  she  has  come 
and  wants  to  take  matters  into  her  own  hands,  oh,  Evan- 
geline !  what  is  to  be  done  ?  The  fact  is,  I  am  not  fit  to 
manage  this  great  house,  nor  the  children,  without  you. 
The  children  are  not  like  others;  they  will  not  stand  the 
treatment  which  ordinary  children  receive.  Oh,  why  has 
Jane,  of  all  people,  come?  What  am  I  to  do?" 

He  paced  rapidly  up  and  down  his  big  study;  clenching 
his  hands  at  times,  at  times  making  use  of  a  strong  excla- 
mation. 

43 


44  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

The  butler  knocked  at  the  door.  "Dinner  will  be  served 
in  half  an  hour,  sir,"  he  said.  "Am  I  to  lay  for  two  ?" 

"Yes,  Johnson.  Mrs.  Dolman,  my  sister,  has  arrived, 
and  will  dine  with  me.  Have  places  laid  for  two." 

The  man  withdrew,  and  Mr.  Delaney,  .stepping  out 
through  the  open  window,  looked  across  the  lawns  which 
his  sister  had  so  strongly  disapproved  of. 

"Jane  was  always  the  one  to  poke  her  finger  into  every 
pie,"  he  said  half  aloud.  "Certainly  this  place  is  distaste- 
ful to  me  now,  and  there  is — upon  my  word,  there  is  some- 
thing in  her  suggestion.  But  to  deliver  over  those  four 
children  to  her,  and  to  take  them  away  from  the  garden, 
and  the  house,  and  the  memory  of  their  mother — oh!  it 
cannot  be  thought  of  for  a  moment;  and  yet,  to  shift  the 
responsibility  while  my  heart  is  so  sore  would  be  an  untold 
relief." 

A  little  voice  in  the  distance  was  heard  shouting  eagerly, 
and  a  small  child,  very  dirty  about  the  hands  and  face, 
came  trotting  up  to  Mr.  Delaney.  It  was  Diana.  She 
was  sobbing  as  well  as  shouting,  and  was  holding  some- 
thing tenderly  wrapped  up  in  her  pocket  handkerchief. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Di?"  said  her  father. 
He  lifted  her  into  his  arms.  "Why,  little  woman,  what 
can  be  the  matter  ?  and  what  have  you  got  in  your  hand- 
kerchief?" 

"It's  Eub-a-Dub,  and  he  is  deaded,"  answered  Diana. 
She  unfolded  the  handkerchief  carefully  and  slowly,  and 
showed  her  father  a  small  piebald  mouse,  quite  dead,  and 
with  a  shriveled  appearance.  "He  is  as  dead  as  he  can 
be,"  repeated  Diana.  "Look  at  him.  His  little  claws  are 


Rub-a-Dub.  45 

blue,  and  oh!  his  little  nose,  and  he  cannot  see;  he  is 
stone  dead,  father." 

"Well,  you  shall  go  into  Beaminster  to-morrow  and  buy 
another  mouse/'  said  Mr.  Delaney. 

Diana  gazed  at  him  with  grave,  wondering  black  eyes. 

"That  would  not  be  Eub-a-Dub,"  she  said;  then  she 
buried  her  little,  fat  face  on  his  shoulder  and  sobs  shook 
her  frame. 

"Evangeline  would  have  known  exactly  what  to  say  to 
the  child,"  muttered  the  father,  in  a  fit  of  despair.  "Come 
along,  little  one,"  he  said.  "What  can't  be  cured  must  be 
endured,  you  know.  Now,  take  my  hand  and  I'll  race 
you  into  the  house." 

The  child  gave  a  wan  little  smile;  but  the  thought  of 
the  mouse  lay  heavy  against  her  heart. 

"May  I  go  back  to  the  garden  first  ?"  she  said.  "I  want 
to  put  Eub-a-Dub  into  the  dead-house." 

"The  dead-house,  Diana?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"It  is  the  house  where  we  keep  the  poor  innocents,  and 
all  the  other  creatures  what  get  deaded,"  said  Diana.  "We 
keep  them  there  until  Iris  has  settled  whether  they  are  to 
have  a  pwivate  or  a  public  funeral.  Iris  does  not  know  yet 
about  Eub-a-Dub.  He  was  quite  well  this  morning.  I 
don't  know  what  he  could  have  died  of.  Perhaps,  father, 
if  you  look  at  him  you  will  be  able  to  tell  me." 

"Well,  let  me  have  a  peep,"  said  the  man,  his  mustache 
twitching  as  he  spoke. 

Diana  once  again  unfolded  her  small  handkerchief,  in 
the  center  of  which  law  the  much  shriveled-up  mouse. 

"The  darling!"  said  the  little  girl  tenderly.     "I  loved 


46  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Rub-a-Dub  BO  much ;  I  love  him  still.  I  do  hope  Iris  will 
thing  him  'portant  enough  for  a  public  funeral." 

"Look  here/'  said  Mr.  Delaney,  interested  in  spite  of 
himself,  and  forgetting  all  about  the  dinner  which  would 
be  ready  in  a  few  minutes;  "I'll  come  right  along  with 
you  to  the  dead-house;  but  I  did  not  know,  Di,  that  you 
kept  an  awful  place  of  that  sort  in  the  garden." 

"  'Tisn't  awful,"  said  Diana.  "We  has  to  keep  a  dead- 
house  when  we  find  dead  things.  We  keep  all  the  dead 
'uns  we  find  there.  There  aren't  as  many  as  usual  to-day 
— only  a  couple  of  butterflies  and  two  or  three  beetles,  and 
a  poor  crushed  spider.  And  oh !  I  forgot  the  toad  that 
we  found  this  morning.  It  was  awful  hurt  and  Apollo 
had  to  kill  it;  he  had  to  stamp  on  it  and  kill  it;  and  he 
did  not  like  it  a  bit.  Iris  can't  kill  things,  nor  can  I,  nor 
can  Orion,  so  we  always  get  Apollo  to  kill  the  things  that 
are  half  dead — to  put  them  out  of  their  misery,  you  know, 
father." 

"You  seem  to  be  a  very  wise  little  girl;  but  I  am  sure 
this  cannot  be  at  all  wholesome  work,"  said  the  father, 
looking  more  bewildered  and  puzzled  than  ever. 

Diana  gazed  gravely  up  at  him.  She  did  not  know  any- 
thing about  the  work  being  wholesome  or  the  reverse. 
The  dead  creatures  had  to  be  properly  treated,  and  had  to 
be  buried  either  privately  or  publicly — that  was  essential 
— nothing  else  mattered  at  all  to  her. 

"As  Rub-a-Dub  is  such  a  dear  darling  I  should  not  be 
s'prised  if  Iris  did  have  a  public  funeral,"  she  com- 
mented. 


Rub-a-Dub.  47 

"But  what  is  the  difference,  Di?  Tell  me,"  said  her 
father. 

"Oh,  father !  you  are  ig'rant.  At  a  pwivate  funeral 
the  poor  dead  'un  is  just  sewn  up  in  dock  leaves  and  stuck 
into  a  hole  in  the  cemetery." 

"The  cemetery !  Good  Heavens,  child !  do  you  keep  a 
cemetery  in  the  garden  ?" 

"Indeed  we  does,  father.  We  have  a  very  large  one 
now,  and  heaps  and  heaps  of  gravestones.  Apollo  writes 
the  insipcron.  He  is  quite  bothered  sometimes.  He  says 
the  horrid  work  is  give  to  him, — carving  the  names  on 
the  stones  and  killing  the  half-dead  'uns, — but  course  he 
has  to  do  it  'cos  Iris  says  so.  Course  we  all  obey  Iris. 
When  it  is  a  pwivate  funeral,  the  dead  'un  is  put  into  the 
ground  and  covered  up,  and  it  don't  have  a  gravestone ; 
then  of  course,  by  and  by,  it  is  forgot.  You  underland; 
don't  you,  father  ?" 

"Bless  me  if  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Delaney,  in  a  puzzled 
tone. 

"But  if  it  is  a  public  funeral,"  continued  Diana,  strut- 
ting boldly  forward  now,  and  throwing  back  her  head  in 
quite  a  martial  attitude,  "why,  then  it's  grand.  There  is 
a  box  just  like  a  coffin,  and  cotton  wool — we  steal  the  cot- 
ton wool  most  times.  We  know  where  Fortune  has  got 
a  lot  of  it  put  away.  Iris  does  not  think  it  quite  right  to 
steal,  but  the  rest  of  us  don't  mind.  And  we  have  ban- 
ners, and  Orion  plays  the  Jew's  harp,  and  I  beat  the 
drum,  and  Iris  sings,  and  Apollo  digs  the  grave,  and  the 
dead  'un  is  put  into  the  ground,,  and  we  all  cry,  or  pretend 
to  cry.  Sometimes  I  do  squeeze  out  a  tiny  tear,  but  I'm 


48  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

so  incited  I  can't  always  manage  it,  although  I'm  sure 
I'll  cry  when  Eub-a-Dub  is  put  into  the  ground.  Then 
afterwards  there  is  a  tombstone,  and  Iris  thinks  of  the 
insipcron.  I  spects  we'll  have  a  beautiful  insipcron  for 
poor  Eub-a-Dub,  'cos  we  all  loved  him  so  much." 

"Well,  all  this  is  very  interesting,  of  course,"  said  Mr. 
Delaney.  "But  now  we  must  be  quick,  because  your  Aunt 
Jane  has  come." 

"Who's  her  Tasked  Diana. 

"A  very  good  lady  indeed — your  aunt." 

"What's  an  aunt?" 

"A  lady  whom  you  ought  to  love  very  much." 

"Ought  I?  I  never  love  people  I  ought  to  love,"  said 
Diana  firmly.  "Please,  father,  this  is  the  dead-house. 
You  can  come  right  in  if  you  like,  father,  and  see  the 
dead  'uns ;  they  are  all  lying  on  this  shelf.  Most  of  them 
is  to  be  buried  pwivate,  'cos  they  are  not  our  own  pets, 
you  know ;  but  Kub-a-Dub  is  sure  to  have  a  public  funeral, 
and  an  insipcron,  and  all  the  rest." 

Mr.  Delaney  followed  Diana  into  the  small  shed  which 
the  children  called  the  dead-house.  He  gazed  solemnly 
at  the  shelf  which  she  indicated,  and  on  which  lay  the 
several  dead  'uns. 

"Put  your  mouse  down  now,"  he  said,  "and  come  along 
back  with  me  to  the  house  at  once.  "You  ought  to  have 
been  in  bed  long  ago." 

Diana  laid  the  mouse  sorrowfully  down  in  the  midst 
of  its  dead  brethren,  shut  the  door  of  the  dead-house,  and 
followed  her  father  up  the  garden  path. 


Rub-a-Dub.  49 

"Ifs  a  most  beautiful  night,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
"It's  going  to  be  a  starful  night;  isn't  it,  father?" 

"Starful?"  said  Mr.  Delaney. 

"Yes;  and  when  it  is  a  starful  night  Orion  can't  sleep 
well,  'cos  he  is  a  star  hisself;  isn't  he,  father?" 

"Good  gracious,  child,  no !    He  is  a  little  boy !" 

"Xo,  no,  father !  You  are  awfu'  mistook.  Mother  called 
him  a  star.  I'll  show  you  him  up  in  the  sky  if  it  really 
comes  to  be  a  starful  night.  May  I,  father  ?" 

"Some  time,  my  darling;  but  now  you  must  hurry  in, 
for  I  have  to  get  ready  for  dinner.  Kiss  me,  Di.  Good- 
night. God  bless  you,  little  one!" 

"B'ess  you  too,  father,"  said  Diana.  "I  love  'oo  awfu' 
well." 

She  raised  her  rosebud  lips,  fixed  her  black  eyes  on  her 
parent's  face,  kissed  him  solemnly,  and  trotted  away  into 
the  house.  When  she  got  close  to  it,  a  great  sob  came  up 
from  her  little  chest.  She  thought  again  of  the  dead  Kub- 
a-Dub,  but  then  the  chance  of  his  having  a  public  funeral 
consoled  her.  She  longed  to  find  Iris. 

Full  of  this  thought,  her  little  heart  beating  more 
quickly  than  usual,  she  rushed  up  the  front  stairs,  and 
was  turning  down  the  passage  which  led  to  the  nursery, 
when  she  was  confronted  by  a  short,  stout  woman  dressed 
in  black. 

"Now,  who  is  this  little  girl,  I  wonder?"  said  a  high- 
pitched,  cheery  voice. 

"It  is  not  your  little  girl,  and  I  am  in  a  hurry,  please," 
said  Diana,  who  could  be  very  rude  when  she  liked.  She 


50  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

did  not  wish  to  be  interrupted  now;  she  wanted  to  find 
Iris  to  tell  her  of  the  sad  fate  of  Eub-a-Dub. 

"Highty-tighty !"  exclaimed  the  little  lady;  "that  is 
no  way  to  speak  to  grown-up  people.  I  expect,  too,  you 
are  one  of  my  little  nieces.  Come  here  at  once  and  say, 
'How  do  you  do  ?' " 

"Are  you  the  aunt  ?"  asked  Diana  solemnly. 

"The  aunt  I"  replied  Mrs.  Dolman.  "I  am  your  aunt, 
my  dear.  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Diana.  Please,  aunt,  don't  clutch  hold  of  my  hand; 
I  want  to  find  Iris." 

"Of  all  the  ridiculous  names,"  muttered  Mrs.  Dolman 
under  her  breath.  "Well,  child,  I  am  inclined  to  keep 
you  for  a  moment,  as  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Do  you  know, 
you  rude  little  girl,  that  I  have  come  a  long  way  to  see 
you.  Of  course,  my  little  girl,  I  know  you  are  sad  at 
present;  but  you  must  try  to  get  over  your  great  sor- 
row." 

"Do  you  know,  then,  about  Bub-a-Dub?"  said  Diana, 
her  whole  face  changing,  and  a  look  of  keen  interest  com- 
ing into  it. 

If  Aunt — whatever  her  other  name  was — should  turn 
out  to  be  interested  in  Eub-a-Dub,  and  sorry  for  his  un- 
timely end,  why,  then,  Diana  felt  there  was  a  possibility 
of  her  squeezing  a  little  corner  for  her  in  her  heart  of 
hearts.  But  Mrs.  Dolman's  next  words  disturbed  the 
pleasant  illusion. 

"You  are  a  poor  little  orphan,  my  child,"  she  said. 
"Your  poor,  dear  mother's  death  must  be  a  terrible  sorrow 
to  you ;  but,  believe  me,  you  will  get  over  it  after  a  time." 


Rub-a-Dub.  51 

"I  has  quite  got  over  it  awready,"  answered  Diana,  in  a 
cheerful  voice.  "It  would  be  awfu'  selfish  to  be  sorry  'bout 
mother,  'cos  mother  is  not  suffering  any  more  pain,  you 
know.  I  am  very  glad  'bout  mother.  I  am  going  to  her 
some  day.  Please  don't  squeeze  my  hand  like  that.  Good- 
by,  aunt;  I  weally  can't  stay  another  moment." 

She  trotted  off,  and  Mrs.  Dolman  gazed  after  her  with 
a  petrified  expression  of  horror  on  her  round  face. 

"Well,"  she  said  to  herself,  "if  ever:  And  the  poor 
mother  is  devoted  to  them  all,  and  she  is  scarcely  a  week 
in  her  grave,  and  yet  that  mite  dares  to  say  she  has 
got  over  it.  What  nonsense  she  talked,  and  what  a  queer 
name  she  has.  Now,  our  family  names  are  sensible  and 
suited  for  the  rising  generation.  We  have  had  our  Eliza- 
beths and  our  Anns,  and  our  Lucys  and  our  Marys,  and, 
of  course,  there  is  Jane,  my  name.  All  these  are  what  I 
call  good  old  respectable  Delaney  names;  but  Diana  and 
.Iris  make  me  sick.  And  I  believe,  if  report  tells  true, 
that  there  are  some  still  more  extraordinary  names  in  the 
family.  What  a  rude,  dirty  little  child!  I  did  not  like 
her  manners  at  all,  and  how  neglected  she  looked.  I 
shall  follow  her;  it  is  my  manifest  duty  to  see  to  these 
children  at  once.  Oh !  I  shall  have  difficulty  in  breaking 
them  in,  but  broken  in  they  must  be!" 

Accordingly  Mrs.  Dolman  turned  down  the  passage 
where  Diana's  fat  legs  disappeared.  The  eager  but  gentle 
flow  of  voices  directed  her  steps,  and  presently  she  opened 
the  door  of  a  large  room  and  looked  in. 

She  found  herself  unexpectedly  on  the  threshold  of  the 
flay-nursery.  It  was  a  beautiful  room,  facing  due  west; 


52  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

the  last  rays  of  the  evening  sun  were  shining  in  at  the 
open  windows;  some  children  were  collected  in  a  corner 
of  the  room.  Diana  had  gone  on  her  knees  beside  a  girl 
a  little  older  and  slighter  than  herself.  Her  plump  elbows 
were  resting  on  the  girl's  knee,  her  round  hands  were 
pressed  to  her  rounder  cheeks,  and  her  black  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  girl's  face. 

The  elder  girl,  very  quiet  and  calm,  had  one  hand  on 
Diana's  shoulder,  her  other  arm  was  thrown  round  a 
handsome  little  boy,  not  unlike  Diana  in  appearance,  while 
an  older  boy  sat  on  a  hassock  at  her  feet. 

"I  will  listen  to  you  presently,  Diana,"  said  Iris.  "Now, 
I  must  finish  my  story/' 

"Yes,  please  go  on,  Iris,"  said  Orion ;  "it's  all  about  me, 
and  I'm  'mensely  inte'sted." 

"Very  well,  Orion.  The  King  of  Chios  did  not  want 
his  daughter  to  marry  you." 

"Good  gracious!"  muttered  Mrs.  Dolman  in  the  door- 
way. 

"So  he  let  you  fall  sound  asleep,"  continued  Iris,  in  her 
calm  voice.  None  of  the  children  had  yet  seen  the  stout 
personage  on  the  threshold  of  the  room.  "He  let  you  fall 
very  sound  asleep,  having  given  you  some  strong  wine." 

"What  next?"  thought  Mrs.  Dolman. 

"And  when  you  were  very  sound  asleep  indeed,  he  put 
out  both  your  eyes.  When  you  awoke  you  found  yourself 
quite  blind,  and  did  not  know  what  to  do  or  where  to  go. 
Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  your  misery,  you  heard  the 
sound  of  a  blacksmith's  forge.  Guided  by  the  noise,  you 
reached  the  place  and  begged  the  blacksmith  to  climb  on 


Rub-a-Dub.  53 

your  shoulders,  and  so  lend  you  his  eyes  to  guide  you. 
The  blacksmith  was  willing  to  do  it,  and  seated  himself 
on  your  shoulders.  Then  you  said,  'Guide  me  to  the  place 
where  I  can  see  the  first  sunbeam  that  rises  in  the  east 
over  the  sea/  and " 

"Yes,"  said  Orion,  whose  breath  was  coming  quickly, 
"yes;  and  what  happened  to  me  then?" 

"Nonsense,  little  boy !  Don't  you  listen  to  another  word 
of  that  folly,"  said  a  very  strong,  determined  voice. 

All  the  children  turned  abruptly. 

"Oh,  she  has  come  bothering !"  said  Diana. 

But  the  other  three  had  started  to  their  feet,  and  a 
flush  rose  into  Iris'  pale  face. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AUNT  IS  HER  NAME. 

"Aunt  is  her  name,"  said  Diana,  "and  I  don't  think 
much  of  her." 

Mrs.  Dolman  strode  rapidly  into  the  nursery. 

"Yes,  children,"  she  said,  "I  am  your  aunt — your  Aunt 
Jane  Dolman,  your  father's  only  sister.  Circumstances 
prevented  my  coming  to  see  your  father  and  mother  for 
several  years;  but  now  that  God  has  seen  fit  to  give  you 
this  terrible  affliction,  and  has  taken  your  dear  mother  to 
Himself,  I  have  arrived,  determined  to  act  a  mother's 
part  to  you.  I  do  not  take  the  least  notice  of  what  that 
rude  little  girl  says.  When  I  have  had  her  for  a  short 
time  under  my  own  control,  she  will  know  better.  Now, 
one  of  you  children,  please  have  the  politeness  to  offer  me 
a  chair,  and  then  you  can  come  up  one  by  one  and  kiss  me." 

Iris  was  so  much  petrified  that  she  could  not  stir.  Diana 
and  Orion  came  close  together,  and  Diana  flung  her  stout 
little  arm  round  Orion's  fat  neck.  Apollo,  however,  sprang 
forward  and  placed  a  chair  for  his  aunt. 

"Will  you  sit  here,  please,  Aunt  Jane  Dolman?"  he 
said. 

"You  need  not  say  Aunt  Jane  Dolman,"  replied  the 
54 


Aunt  is  Her  Name.  55 

lady;  "that  is  a  very  stiff  way  of  speaking.  Say  Aunt 
Jane.  You  can  kiss  me,  little  boy." 

Apollo  raised  his  lips  and  bestowed  a  very  chaste  salute 
upon  Aunt  Jane's  fat  cheek. 

"What  is  your  name?"  said  Aunt  Jane,  taking  one  of 
his  small,  hard  hands  in  hers. 

"Apollo,"  he  replied,  flinging  his  head  back. 

"Apollo !  Heaven  preserve  us !  Why,  that  is  the  name 
of  one  of  the  heathen  deities — positively  impious.  What 
could  my  poor  sister-in-law  and  your  father  have  been 
thinking  of?  At  one  time  I  considered  your  father  a 
man  of  sense." 

Apollo  flushed  a  beautiful  rosy  red. 

"Please,  Aunt  Jane,"  he  said,  "I  like  my  name  very 
much  indeed,  and  I  would  rather  you  did  not  say  a  word 
against  it,  because  mother  gave  it  to  me." 

"It  is  a  name  with  a  beautiful  meaning,"  said  Iris, 
coming  forward  at  last.  "How  are  you,  Aunt  Jane  ?  My 
name  is  Iris,  and  this  is  Diana,  and  this  is  Orion — both 
Diana  and  Orion  are  very  good  children  indeed,  and" — 
here  her  lips  quivered,  her  earnest,  brown  eyes  were  fixed 
with  great  solicitude  on  her  aunt's  face — "I  ought  to 
know,"  she  said,  "for  I  am  a  mother  to  the  others,  and,  I 
think,  please,  Aunt  Jane,  Orion  and  Diana  should  be 
going  to  bed  now." 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  objection,  my  dear.  I  simply 
wished  to  see  you  children.  I  will  say  good-night  now; 
we  can  have  a  further  talk  to-morrow.  But  first,  before  I 
go,  let  me  repeat  over  your  names,  or  rather  you — Apollo, 
I  think  you  call  yourself — had  better  say  them  for  me." 


56  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 


is  Iris,"  said  Apollo,  pointing  to  his  elder  sister, 
"and  I  am  Apollo,  and  that  is  Diana,  and  that  is  Orion." 

"All  four  names  taken  from  the  heathen  mythology," 
replied  Aunt  Jane,  "and  I,  the  wife  of  a  good,  honest 
clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  have  to  listen  to 
this  nonsense.  I  declare  it  may  be  inconvenient  —  it  may 
frighten  the  parishioners.  I  must  think  it  well  over.  I 
have,  of  course,  heard  before  of  girls  being  called  Diana, 
and  also  of  girls  being  called  Iris  —  but  Apollo  and  Orion  ! 
My  poor  children,  I  am  sorry  for  you;  you  are  burdened 
for  life.  Good-night,  good-night  !  You  will  see  me  again 
to-morrow." 

The  great  dinner-gong  sounded  through  the  house,  and 
Aunt  Jane  sailed  away  from  the  day-nursery. 

"Fortune,  who  is  she?"  asked  Iris,  raising  a  pair  of  al- 
most frightened  eyes  to  the  old  nurse's  face. 

"She  is  your  father's  sister,  my  darling,"  said  Fortune. 
"She  has  come  on  a  visit,  and  uninvited,  Peter  tells  me. 
I  doubt  if  my  master  is  pleased  to  see  her.  She  will  most 
likely  go  away  in  a  day  or  two,  so  don't  you  fret,  Miss 
Iris,  love.  Now,  come  along,  Master  Orion,  and  let  me 
undress  you.  It  is  very  late,  and  you  ought  to  be  in  your 
little  bed." 

"I'm  Orion,"  said  the  little  boy,  "and  I'm  stone  blind." 
He  began  to  strut  up  and  down  the  nursery  with  his  eyes 
tightly  shut. 

"Apollo,  please,  may  I  get  on  your  shoulder  for  a  bit, 
and  will  you  lead  me  to  that  place  where  the  first  sunbeam 
rises  in  the  east  over  the  sea?" 

"Come,"  said   Fortune,  in  what  Diana  would  call   a 


Aunt  is  Her  Name.  57 

"temperish"  tone,  "we  can  have  no  more  of  that  ridiculous 
story-telling  to-night.  Miss  Iris,  you'll  ask  them  to  be 
good,  won't  you?" 

"Yes.  Children,  do  be  good,"  said  Iris,  in  her  earnest 
voice. 

Diana  trotted  up  to  her  sister  and  took  her  hand. 

"I  has  something  most  'portant  to  tell  you,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  whisper.  "It's  an  awfu'  sorrow,  but  you  ought 
to  know." 

"What  is  it,  Di?" 

"Eub-a-Dub  has  got  deaded." 

"Rub-a-Dub?" 

"Yes;  it  is  quite  true.  I  found  him  stark  dead  and 
stiff.  I  has  put  him  in  the  dead-house." 

Iris  said  nothing. 

"And  he  is  to  have  a  public  funeral,  isn't  he?"  said 
Diana,  "and  a  beautiful  insipcron.  Do  say  he  is,  and  let 
us  have  the  funeral  to-morrow." 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,"  said  Iris,  then;  "I  did  love  Eub- 
a-Dub.  Yes,  Di;  I'll  think  it  over.  We  can  meet  after 
breakfast  in  the  dead-house  and  settle  what  to  do." 

"There  are  to  be  a  lot  of  funerals  to-morrow — I'm  so 
glad,"  said  Diana,  with  a  chuckle. 

She  followed  Orion  into  the  night-nursery.  He  was 
still  walking  with  his  eyes  tightly  shut  and  went  bang 
up  against  his  bath,  a  good  portion  of  which  he  spilt  on 
the  floor.  This  put  both  Fortune  and  the  under-nurse, 
Susan,  into  a  temper,  and  they  shook  him  and  made  him 
cry,  whereupon  Diana  cried  in  concert,  and  poor  Iris  felt 
a  great  weight  resting  on  her  heart. 


58  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"It  is  awfully  difficult  to  be  a  mother  to  them  all,"  she 
thought.  "The  usual  kind  of  things  don't  seem  to  please 
them.  Apollo,  what  is  the  matter?  What  are  you  think- 
ing of?" 

"I'm  only  wishing  that  I  might  be  the  real  Apollo," 
said  the  boy,  "and  that  I  might  get  quite  far  away  from 
here.  Things  are  different  here  now  that  mother  has 
gone,  Iris.  I  don't  like  Aunt  Jane  Dolman  a  bit." 

"Oh,  well,  she  is  our  aunt,  so  I  suppose  it  is  wrong  not 
to  like  her,"  answered  Iris. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  replied  Apollo.  "I  have  a  feeling  that 
she  means  to  make  mischief.  Why  did  she  come  here 
without  being  asked?  Iris,  shall  we  go  down  to  dessert 
to-night,  or  not?" 

"I  would  much  rather  not,"  answered  Iris. 

"But  father  likes  us  to  go.  It  is  the  only  time  in  the 
day  when  he  really  sees  us.  I  think,  perhaps,  we  ought  to 
get  dressed  and  be  ready  to  go  down." 

"I  will  if  you  think  so,  Apollo;  but  I  am  very  tired 
and  sleepy." 

"Well,  I  really  do.  We  must  not  shirk  things  if  we  are 
to  be  a  bit  what  mother  wants  us  to  be;  and  now  that 
Aunt  Jane  has  come,  poor  father  may  want  us  worse  than 
ever." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  replied  Iris.  "I'll  run  and 
get  dressed  at  once,  Apollo." 

She  flew  away  into  a  tiny  little  room  of  her  own,  which 
opened  into  the  night-nursery." 

"Susan,"  she  called  out,  "will  you  please  help  me  to 
put  on  my  after-dinner  frock?" 


Aunt  is  Her  Name.  59 

"You  have  only  a  white  dress  to  wear  this  evening,  miss ; 
your  new  black  one  has  not  come  home  yet." 

"A  white  one  will  be  all  right,"  replied  Iris. 

"Oh,  dear  me,  miss !  and  your  poor  mother  only  a  week 
dead." 

"I  wish,  Susan,  you  would  not  talk  of  mother  as  dead," 
answered  Iris.  "I  don't  think  of  her  like  that  a  bit.  She 
is  in  Heaven;  she  has  gone  up  the  golden  stairs,  and  she 
is  quite  well  and  ever  so  happy,  and  she  won't  mind  my 
wearing  a  white  dress,  more  particularly  if  I  want  to 
comfort  father.  Please  help  me  on  with  it  and  then 
brush  out  my  hair." 

Iris  had  lovely  hair — it  was  of  a  deep,  rich  chestnut, 
and  it  curled  and  curled,  and  waved  and  waved  in  rich 
profusion  down  her  back.  When  Susan  had  brushed  it, 
and  taken  the  tangles  out,  it  shone  like  burnished  gold. 
Her  pretty  white  frock  was  speedily  put  on,  and  she  ran 
out  of  her  little  room  to  join  Apollo,  who,  in  his  black 
velvet  suit,  looked  very  picturesque  and  handsome. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  little  pair,  taking  each  other's 
hands,  ran  down  the  broad,  white  marble  stairs  and  entered 
the  big  dining-room.  They  looked  almost  lost  in  the  dis- 
tance when  they  first  appeared,  for  the  table  at  which  Mr. 
Delaney  and  Mrs.  Dolman  sat  was  far  away  in  a  bay 
window  at  the  other  end  of  the  stately  apartment. 

"Hullo,  children !  so  there  you  are !"  called  their  father's 
voice  to  them.  He  had  never  been  better  pleased  to  see 
them  in  all  his  life,  and  the  note  of  welcome  in  his  tones 
found  an  answering  echo  in  Iris'  loving  little  heart. 

They  both   tnpped   eagerly  up  the  room   and   placed 


60  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

themselves  one  on  each  side  of  him,  while  Iris  slipped  her 
hand  into  his. 

"Well,  my  chicks,  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said. 

"Perhaps,  David,  you  will  remember  how  disgracefully 
late  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "Children,  I  must  frankly 
say  that  I  am  not  pleased  to  see  you.  What  are  you  doing 
up  at  this  hour?" 

"We  have  come  to  keep  father  company,"  said  Apollo, 
fixing  his  flashing  black  eyes,  with  a  distinctly  adverse 
expression  in  them,  on  his  aunt's  face. 

"In  my  day,"  continued  Aunt  Jane  complacently,  help- 
ing herself  to  strawberries,  "the  motto  was:  'Little  boys 
should  be  seen  and  not  heard.'  To-night,  of  course,  I 
make  allowances;  but  things  will  be  different  presently. 
David,  you  surely  are  not  giving  those  children  wine  ?" 

"Oh,  they  generally  have  a  little  sip  each  from  my 
port,"  said  Mr.  Delaney;  "it  does  not  do  them  any 
harm." 

"You  may  inculcate  a  taste,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  in  a 
very  solemn  voice.  "In  consequence  of  that  little  sip, 
which  appears  so  innocent,  those  children  may  grow  up 
drunkards.  Early  impressions !  Well,  all  I  can  say  is 
this — when  they  come  to  live  at  the  Rectory  they  will  have 
to  be  teetotalers.  In  my  house  we  are  all  teetotalers.  My 
husband  and  I  both  think  that  we  cannot  have  proper 
influence  on  the  parishioners  unless  we  do  ourselves  what 
we  urge  them  to  do." 

Iris  and  Apollo  both  listened  to  these  strange  words 
with  fast-beating  hearts.  What  did  they  mean?  Mrs. 
Dolman  spoke  of  when  they  were  to  live  at  the  Rectory. 


Aunt  is  Her  Name.  61 

What  rectory?  She  spoke  of  a  time  when  they  were  to 
live  with  her.  Oh,  no;  she  must  be  mistaken.  Nothing 
so  perfectly  awful  could  be  going  to  happen. 

Nevertheless,  Iris  could  scarcely  touch  her  wine,  and 
she  pushed  aside  the  tempting  macaroon  which  Mr.  De- 
laney  had  slipped  on  to  her  plate.  She  found  it  impossible 
to  eat. 

Apollo,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  attacked  his  wine 
and  swallowed  his  biscuit  manfully;  but  even  he  had  not 
his  usual  appetite. 

After  a  short  pause,  Iris  gave  a  gentle  sigh  and  put 
both  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck. 

"I  am  tired,  father ;  I  should  like  to  go  to  bed." 

"And  I  want  to  go,  too,"  said  Apollo. 

"Those  are  the  first  sensible  remarks  I  have  heard  from 
either  of  the  children,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "I  should 
think  they  are  dead  tired  for  want  of  sleep,  poor  little 
mites.  Good-night,  both  of  you.  When  you  come  to  live 
with  me — ah !  I  see  you  are  astonished ;  but  we  will  talk 
of  that  pleasant  little  scheme  to-morrow.  Good-night  to 
you  both." 

"Good-night,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Iris. 

"Good-night,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Apollo. 

"Good-night  to  you  both,  my  pets,"  said  Mr.  Delaney. 

Iris  gave  her  father  a  silent  hug,  Apollo  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead — a  moment  later  the  little  pair  left  the  room. 
As  soon  as  ever  they  had  done  so,  Mrs.  Dolman  turned  to 
her  brother. 

"Now,  then,  David,"  she  said,  "you  have  got  to  listen 
to  me ;  we  may  just  as  well  settle  this  matter  out  of  hand 


62  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

I  must  return  home  on  Thursday — and  this  is  Tuesday 
evening.  It  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  stay  on  here 
with  those  four  children  and  no  one  responsible  to  look 
after  them.  You  appear  half  dead  with  grief  and  depres- 
sion, and  you  want  a  thorough  change.  The  place  is  going 
to  rack  and  ruin.  Your  rent-roll,  how  much  is  it?" 

"About  fifteen  thousand  pounds  a  year — quite  enough 
to  keep  me  out  of  anxiety,"  said  Mr.  Delaney,  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"It  ought  to  be  twenty  thousand  a  year — in  our  father's 
time  it  was  quite  that.  No  doubt  you  let  your  farms  too 
cheap;  and  so  much  grass  round  the  house  is  disgraceful. 
Now,  if  I  had  the  management " 

"But  you  see  you  have  not,  Jane,"  said  Mr.  Delaney. 
"The  property  happens  to  belong  to  me." 

"That  is  true,  and  I  have  a  great  deal  too  much  on 
my  mind  to  worry  myself  about  Delaney  Manor;  but,  of 
course,  it  is  the  old  place,  and  you  are  my  only  brother, 
and  I  am  anxious  to  help  you  in  your  great  affliction. 
When  you  married  you  broke  off  almost  all  connection 
with  me,  but  now — now  I  am  willing  to  overlook  the  past. 
Do  you,  or  do  you  not,  intend  those  children  to  run  wild 
any  longer?  Even  though  they  are  called  after  heathen 
idols  they  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
some  religious  influence  may  be  brought  to  bear  on  them. 
At  the  present  moment,  I  conclude  that  they  have  none 
whatever." 

"I  never  saw  better  children,"  said  Mr.  Delaney ;  "their 
mother  brought  them  up  as  no  one  else  could.  In  my 
opinion,  they  are  nearly  perfect." 


Aunt  is  Her  Name.  63 

"You  talk  nonsense  of  that  kind  because  you  are  blinded 
by  your  fatherly  affection.  Now,  let  me  assure  you,  in 
full  confidence,  that  I  never  came  across  more  neglected 
and  more  utterly  absurd  little  creatures.  Good-looking 
they  are — you  are  a  fine-looking  man  yourself,  and  your 
wife  was  certainly  pretty — the  children  take  after  you 
both.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  their  appearance ;  but 
they  talk  utter  gibberish;  and  as  to  that  eldest  little  girl, 
if  she  is  not  given  something  sensible  to  occupy  her  I  can- 
not answer  for  the  consequence.  My  dear  David,  I  don't 
want  to  interfere  with  37our  estate." 

"You  could  not,  Jane ;  I  would  not  permit  it/' 

"But  with  regard  to  the  children,  I  really  have  experi- 
ence. I  have  five  children  of  my  own,  and  I  think,  if  you 
were  to  see  them,  you  would  be  well  assured  that  Iris  and 
Diana,  Apollo  and  Orion  would  do  well  to  take  example 
by  them.  We  might  change  the  names  of  the  boys  and  give 
them  titles  not  quite  so  terrible." 

"I  wish  them  to  be  called  by  the  names  their  mother 
chose,"  said  Mr.  Delaney,  with  great  firmness. 

"Well,  I  suppose  the  poor  children  will  live  it  down,  but 
they  will  have  a  terrible  time  at  school.  However,  they 
are  too  young  for  anything  of  that  kind  at  present.  Give 
me  the  children,  David,  and  I  will  act  as  a  mother  to 
them ;  then  pack  up  your  belongings,  put  your  estate  into 
the  hands  of  a  good  agent,  and  go  abroad  for  some  years." 

"It  would  be  an  untold  relief,"  said  Mr.  Delaney. 

At  that  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  butler 
appeared  with  the  evening  post  on  a  salver.  Mr.  Delaney 
laid  the  letters  languidly  by  his  plate. 


64  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  drawing-room,  Jane  ?"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Dolman  rose  briskly. 

"I  shall  retire  early  to  bed,"  she  said.  "Read  your  let- 
ters, please,  David;  you  need  not  stand  on  ceremony 
with  me." 

Mr.  Delaney  looked  over  his  post;  then  his  eyes  lighted 
up  as  he  saw  the  handwriting  on  one  of  the  envelopes. 
He  opened  the  letter  in  question,  which  immediately  inter- 
ested him  vastly.  It  happened  to  be  from  an  old  friend, 
and  certainly  seemed  to  come  at  an  opportune  moment. 
This  friend  was  about  to  start  on  an  expedition  to  the 
Himalayas,  and  he  begged  his  old  fellow-traveler  to  go 
with  him.  His  long  letter,  the  enthusiastic  way  he  wrote, 
the  suggestions  he  threw  out  of  possible  and  exciting  ad- 
ventures, came  just  at  the  nick  of  time  to  the  much- 
depressed  and  weary  man. 

"Why,  I  declare,  Jane,"  he  said,  "this  does  seem  to 
come  opportunely."  He  walked  over  to  where  his  sister 
was  standing,  and  read  a  portion  of  the  letter  aloud.  "If 
I  might  venture  to  trust  my  darlings  to  you,"  he  said, 
"there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  I  should  like  better  than 
to  accompany  Seymour  to  the  Himalayas.  He  starts  in 
a  fortnight's  time,  so  there  really  is  not  a  day  to  lose." 

"Then,  David,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "you  will  not  allow 
this  valuable  opportunity  to  slip — you  will  trust  your 
children  to  me.  I  assure  you  I  will  do  my  duty  by  them." 
She  spoke  with  real  sincerity,  and  tears  absolutely  dimmed 
her  bright  eyes.  "David,"  she  continued,  "that  letter 
seems  a  Providence ;  you  will  act  upon  it." 

"It  certainly  does,"  said  the  man;  "but,  Jane,  you  will 


Aunt  is  Her  Name.  6£ 

be  good  to  the  children — tender,  I  mean.  Their  mother 
has  always  been  very  gentle  to  them." 

"You  need  not  question  me  as  to  how  I  will  treat  them. 
I  will  bring  them  up  as  I  would  my  own.  I  will  do  my 
utmost  to  rear  them  in  the  fear  of  God.  David,  this 
clinches  the  matter.  Write  to  Mr.  Seymour  by  this  night's 
post." 

Mr.  Delaney  promised  to  do  so,  and  soon  afterwards 
Mrs.  Dolman,  feeling  that  she  had  done  a  very  good  and 
excellent  work,  retired,  in  a  thoroughly  happy  frame  of 
mind,  to  her  bedroom. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  POOR  DEAD  JUNS. 

Mr.  Delaney's  bedroom  faced  east,  and  the  following 
morning,  at  a  very  early  hour,  he  began  to  have  most 
unpleasant  dreams.  He  thought  a  hobgoblin  was  seated 
on  his  chest,  and  several  brownies  were  pulling  him  where 
he  did  not  wish  to  go,  and  finally  that  a  gnome  of  enor- 
mous dimensions  was  dragging  him  into  a  dark  cavern, 
where  he  could  never  again  behold  the  daylight.  At  last, 
in  great  perturbation,  he  opened  his  dazed  eyes.  The 
sight  he  saw  seemed  at  first  to  be  a  continuation  of  his 
dream,  but  after  a  moment  or  two  he  discoyered  that 
the  persoa  who  had  become  possessed  of  his  chest  was  a 
small  boy  of  the  name  of  Orion,  that  a  little  black-eyed  girl 
called  Diana  had  comfortably  ensconced  herself  on  his 
knees,  and  that  Iris  and  Apollo  were  seated  one  at  each  side 
of  his  pillow.  The  four  children  had  all  climbed  up  on  to 
the  big  bedstead,  and  were  gazing  attentively  at  him. 

"He  is  opening  his  eyes,"  said  Orion ;  "he'll  be  all  right 
after  a  minute  or  two.  Don't  hurry  up,  fattier;  we  can 
wait." 

"We  can  wait  quite  well,  father,"  said  Diana;  "and  it's 
very  comf  able  on  your  knees ;  they  is  so  flat" 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  67 

"W*  awe  awfully  sorry  to  disturb  yon,  father,"  said 
Iris. 

"But  we  ean't  help  it,  because  it's  most  solemnly  im- 
portant/* said  Apollo. 

"So  it  seems,"  remarked  Mr.  Delaney,  when  he  could 
at  last  find  a  Toice.  "You  have  all  subjected  me  to  a  ter- 
rible dream.  I  am  really  glad  that  I  have  awakened  and 
find  that  the  hobgoblins,  and  gnomes,  and  brownies  are 
no  less  little  people  than  my  own  four  children.  But  why 
am  I  to  be  disturbed  at  such  a  very  early  hour?" 

KIf  yon  like,  father,"  said  Diana,  "we'll  pull  up  all  the 
blinds;  then  the  hot,  blazin'  sun  will  come  in,  and  you'll 
see  that  it's  not  early  at  all ;  it's  late." 

Mr.  Delaney  happened  to  glance  at  a  clock  which  stood 
on  the  mantelpiece  exactly  facing  the  big  bed. 

"I  read  «ra  the  face  of  that  clock,"  he  said,  "that  the 
hour  is  half-past  five.  Now,  what  have  you  four  little 
children  to  do,  sitting  on  my  bed  at  half-past  five  in  the 
morning  ?" 

When  Mr.  Delaney  said  this  he  shook  himself  slightly 
and  upset  Diana's  balance,  and  made  Orion  choke  with 
silent  laughter.  Iris  and  Apollo  gazed  at  him  gravely. 

"We  all  made  up  our  minds  to  do  it,"  said  Iris.  "We 
have  come  to  ask  you  to  make  a  promise,  father." 

"A  promise,  my  dear  children!  But  you  might  have 
waited  uiatil  the  usual  hour  for  getting  up.  What  are 
you  going  to  wring  from  me  at  this  inclement  moment?" 

"I  doa't  exactly  know  what  inclement  moment  means," 

said  Iris,  **bot  I  do  know,  and  so  does  Apollo " 

ao  4o  I  know  all  about  it,"  shouted  Diana.  "You 


68  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

see,  father,"  continued  the  little  girl,  who  spoke  rather 
more  than  any  of  the  other  children,  "we  haa  t»  think  of 
the  poor  innocents,  and  the  birds  and  the  mice,  and  the 
green  frogs,  and  our  puppy,  and  our  pug  dog,  and  our — 
and  our "  Here  she  fairly  stammered  in  her  excite- 
ment. 

"Has  a  sudden  illness  attacked  that  large  family?"  eaid 
Mr.  Delaney.  "Please,  children,  explain  yoareelTes,  for 
if  you  are  not  sleepy,  I  am." 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Iris,  "we  can  explain  oureelTes  quite 
easily.  The  thing  is  this — we  don't  want  to  go  away." 

"To  go  away?  My  dear  children,  what  do  fou  mean?" 
But  as  Mr.  Delaney  spoke  he  had  a  very  uncomfortable 
memory  of  a  letter  which  he  had  posted  witk  his  own 
hands  on  the  previous  evening. 

"Yes,"  said  Apollo;  "we  don't  want  to  g»  iw&j  with 
her." 

"And  we  don't  wish  for  no  aunts  about  th«  place,**  said 
Diana,  clenching  her  little  fist,  and  letting  her  big,  black 
eyes  flash. 

"Now  I  begin  to  see  daylight,"  said  Mr.  Ddanej.  "So 
you  don't  like  poor  Aunt  Jane  ?" 

"Guess  we  don't,"  said  Orion.  "She  corned  im  last  night 
and  she  made  an  awful  fuss,  and  she  didn't  like  me  'cos 
I'm  Orion,  and  'cos  I'm  a  giant,  and  'cos  sometimes  I 
has  got  no  eyes.  Guess  she's  afraid  of  me.  I  thought  her 
a  silly  sort  of  a  body." 

"She's  an  aunt,  and  that's  enough,"  said  Diana.  "I 
don't  like  no  aunts;  they  are  silly  people.  I  want  her 
to  go." 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  69 

"Apollo  and  I  brought  the  two  3'ounger  children,"  con- 
tinued IriB,  "because  we  thought  it  best  for  us  all  to  come. 
It  is  not  Aunt  Jane  being  here  that  is  so  dreadful  to  me, 
and  BO  very,  very  terrible  to  Apollo,"  she  continued.  "It's 
what  she  said,  father,  that  we — we  were  to  go  away,  away 
from  the  house  and  the  garden — the  garden  where  mother 
used  to  be,  and  the  house  where  the  angel  came  to  fetch 
mother  away — and  we  are  to  live  with  her.  She  spoke, 
father,  as  if  it  was  settled ;  but  it  is  not  true,  is  it  ?  Tell 
us,  father,  that  it  is  not  true." 

"My  poor  little  children  I"  said  the  father.  His  own 
ruddy  and  sunburnt  face  turned  absolutely  pale;  there 
was  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  Diana  could  not  in  the  least 
understand,  nor  could  Orion,  and  which  even  Apollo  only 
slightly  fathomed ;  but  one  glance  told  Iris  the  truth. 

"When  I  am  away  you  are  to  be  a  mother  to  the  others," 
seemed  at  that  moment  to  echo  her  mother's  own  voice 
in  her  ear.  She  gulped  down  a  great  sob  in  her  throat,  and 
stretching  herself  by  her  father's  side  she  put  one  soft  arm 
round  his  neck. 

"Never  mind  if  it  is  really  settled,"  she  said.  "I  will 
try  hard  to  bear  it." 

"You  are  about  the  bravest  little  darling  in  the  world," 
said  Mr.  Delaney. 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Iris  ?"  cried  Apollo,  clutch- 
ing his  sister  by  her  long  hair  as  she  spoke.  "YoL.  say 
that  you  will  try  and  bear  it,  and  that  father  is  not  to 
mind?  But  father  must  mind.  If  I  go  to  Aunt  Jane 
Dolman's,  why — why,  it  will  kill  me."  And  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  heathen  gods  cast  such  a  glance  of 


70  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

acorn  at  his  parent  at  that  moment  that  Mr.  IMoaef  abso- 
lutely quailed. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Apollo,  don't  eat  me  «p,"  be  said. 
"The  fact  is  this,  children;  I  may  as  well  hare  the  whole 
thing  out.  Aunt  Jane  came  last  night  and  took  me  by 
surprise.  I  have  been  very  lonely  lately,  and  jnou  know, 
you  poor  little  mites,  }rou  cannot  be  left  t»  the  care  of 
Fortune.  She  is  a  very  good  soul,  but  you  want  more 
than  her  to  look  after  you,  and  then  Miss  Stevenson — I 
never  did  think  her  up  to  much." 

"Father,"  eaid  Apollo,  "you  have  no  right  U  abuse  our 
spiritual  pastors  and  masters." 

Notwithstanding  his  heathenish  name,  it  wfll  be  seen 
by  this  remark  that  some  of  his  time  was  oce«pied  learn- 
ing the  church  catechism. 

"I  stand  corrected,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Dekney,  "or, 
rather,  at  the  present  moment,  I  lie  corrected-  Well,  chil- 
dren, the  truth  must  out — Aunt  Jane  took  im«  by  sur- 
prise. She  promises  she  will  look  after  70*  a»d  be  a 
mother  to  you." 

"We  don't  want  no  other  mother,  now  that  our  own 
mother  is  gone,  except  Iris,"  said  Apollo.  *We  won't 
have  Aunt  Jane  for  a  mother." 

"She  is  a  howid  old  thing,  and  I  hate  aunts,"  eaid 
Diana. 

"Well,  children,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  fcut  it  is  too 
late  to  do  anything  now.  The  whole  thing  M  arranged. 
I  hope  yon  will  try  to  be  good,  and  also  to  b«  happy  with 
Aunt  Jane.  You  won't  find  her  half  bad  when  you  get 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  71 

to  know  her  better,  and  of  course  I  won't  be  Yery  long 
away,  and  when  I  come  back  again } 

"Please  don't  say  any  more,  father,"  interrupted  Iris. 
She  slipped  off  the  bed  and  stood  very  pale  and  still,  look- 
ing at  her  father  with  eyes  which,  notwithstanding  all  her 
efforts,  were  full  of  reproach. 

"Come,  children,"  she  said  to  the  others,  "let  poor  father 
have  his  sleep  out.  It  ia  quite  early,  father,  and — and 
we  undemtand  now." 

"Do  say  you  are  not  angry  with  me,  you  dear  little  kids. 
I  would  not  hurt  you  for  the  whole  world." 

"Of  course  we  are  not  angry,  father,"  said  Iris.  She 
bent  slowly  forward  and  kissed  her  father  on  his  fore- 
head. "Go  to  sleep,  father;  we  are  sorry  we  woke  you 
so  early." 

"Yes,  father,  go  to  s'eep,"  echoed  Diana.  "I  underland 
all  'bout  it.  You  won't  have  no  hobgoblins  now  to  dweam 
about,  for  I  has  got  off  your  knees.  They  was  lovely  and 
flat,  and  I  didn't  mind  sitting  on  them  one  bit." 

"All  the  Bame,  Diana,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  getting 
off,"  said  Mr.  Delaney,  "for  I  was  beginning  to  get  quite 
a  terrible  cramp,  to  say  nothing  of  my  sensations  at  hav- 
ing this  giant  Orion  planting  himself  on  my  cheat.  I  will 
have  a  long  talk  with  you  all,  darlings,  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  and  I  do  hope  you  won't  be  very  unhappy  with 
your  Aunt  Jane  Dolman." 

"Well  be  mia'ble,  but  it  can't  be  helped,"  said  Diana. 
"I  never  did  like  aunts,  and  I'm  never  going  to,  what's 
more.  Come  long  now,  sildrens.  It's  a  gweat  nuisance 
getting  up  »o  early,  particular  when  father  can't  help 


72  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

hisself .  Can  you,  father  ?  Go  to  s'eep  now,  father.  Come 
'long  this  minute,  back  to  bed,  sildrens." 

Diana  looked  really  worthy  of  her  distinguished  name 
as  she  strode  down  the  passage  and  returned  to  the  night- 
nursery.  She  and  Orion  slipped  into  their  respective  little 
cots  and  lay  down  without  waking  either  Fortune  or  Susan, 
who  slept  in  beds  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  Iris 
and  Apollo  also  returned  to  their  beds,  and  presently 
Apollo  dropped  asleep,  for,  though  he  had  an  alarming 
temper,  his  fits  of  passion  never  lasted  long.  But  Iris 
did  not  close  her  bright  brown  eyes  again  that  morning. 
She  lay  awake,  full  of  troubled  thoughts — thoughts  far 
too  old  for  her  tender -years. 

It  was  one  of  Fortune's  fads  never  on  any  occasion  to 
awaken  a  sleeping  child,  and  as  the  other  children  slept 
rather  longer  than  usual  after  their  early  waking,  break- 
fast was  in  consequence  full  half  an  hour  late  in  the  day- 
nursery  that  morning.  At  last,  however,  it  was  finished. 
No  special  lessons  had  been  attended  to  since  mother  had 
gone  away  to  the  angels,  and  the  children,  snatching  up 
their  hats,  rushed  off  as  fast  as  possible  to  the  garden. 
When  they  got  there  they  all  four  breathed  freely.  This 
at  least  was  their  own  domain — their  fairyland,  their  coun- 
try of  adventure.  From  here  they  could  travel  to  good- 
ness only  knew  where — sometimes  to  the  stare  with  bright 
Apollo  and  brave  Orion — sometimes  to  happy  hunting 
fields  with  Diana,  the  goddess  of  the  chase,  and  sometimes 
they  might  even  visit  the  rainbow,  with  sweet  Iris  as  their 
companion. 

There  never  were  happier  children  than  these  four  in 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  73 

that  lovely,  lovely  beyond  words,  garden.  When  the  chil- 
dren went  into  it,  it  seemed  as  if  an  additional  ray  of  sun- 
shine had  come  out  to  fill  all  the  happy  world  with  light 
and  love  and  beauty.  The  bees  hummed  more  industriously 
than  ever,  the  flowers  opened  their  sweet  eyes  and  gazed 
at  the  children,  the  animals  came  round  them  in  a  group. 

On  this  special  morning,  however,  Diana's  dear  little 
face  looked  very  grave  and  full  of  business. 

"It's  most  'citing,"  she  said.  "  Tore  we  does  anything 
else  we  must  'tend  to  the  funerals — there  is  such  a  lot  of 
dead  'uns  to  bury  this  morning.  Come  'long  to  the  dead- 
house  at  once,  Iris." 

"I  must  smell  the  Scotch  roses  first,"  answered  Iris. 

"You  can  do  that  afterwards,  can't  you?  There's  poor 
Eub-a-Dub.  We  has  to  'cide  whether  he  is  to  have  a  pub- 
lic or  a  pwivate  funeral,  or  whether  he  is  just  to  be  sewn 
up  in  dock  leaves,  and  put  into  the  gwound  p'omisc's." 

Diana  had  a  great  facility  for  taking  up  long  words, 
which  she  always  used  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  style, 
not  in  the  least  caring  how  she  pronounced  them. 

The  other  children  could  not  help  laughing  at  her  now, 
and  the  four  hurried  off  as  fast  as  they  possibly  could  to 
the  dead-house. 

This  unpleasantly  named  abode  was  in  reality  a  pretty 
little  shed  in  one  corner  of  the  old  garden.  It  contained 
a  door  with  lock  and  key,  a  nice  little  window,  and  every- 
thing fitted  up  for  the  keeping  of  tools  and  carpenters' 
implements.  Long  ago,  however,  the  children  decided 
that  here  the  dead  animals  of  all  sorts  and  species  were  to 
be  kept  until  the  solemn  momert  of  interment. 


74  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Iris  looked  just  as  grave  as  the  others  when  she  un- 
locked the  door  of  the  dead-house  now,  and  they  all 
entered.  The  dead  'uns  were  decently  laid  out  on  a  shelf, 
just  in  front  of  the  public  view.  There  was  a  dead  bee, 
and  two  butterflies;  there  were  two  dead  worms  and  a 
dead  toad;  also  three  or  four  beetles  in  different  stages 
of  decomposition,  and  a  terribly  crushed  spider — and  sol- 
emnly lying  in  the  midst  of  his  dead  brethren  lay  Eub-a- 
Dub,  the  precious  and  dearly  loved  piebald  mouse. 

"They  look  beautiful,  poor  darlin's,"  said  Diana;  "they 
will  most  fill  up  the  cemetery.  Now  please,  Iris,  which  is 
to  have  a  public  funeral?" 

"Of  course  Eub-a-Dub  must,"  answered  Iris.  "As  to 
the  others " 

"Don't  you  think  that  poor  toad,  Iris?"  said  Diana, 
wrinkling  up  her  brows,  and  gazing  anxiously  at  her  sis- 
,ter.  "The  toad  seems  to  me  to  be  rather  big  to  have  only 
a  pwivate  funeral.  We  could  scarcely  get  dock  leaves 
enough/' 

"We  must  try,"  answered  Iris ;  "the  toad  must  be  buried 
privately  with  the  others.  We  always  make  it  a  rule — 
don't  you  remember,  Di — only  to  give  public  funerals  to 
our  own  special  pets." 

"All  wight,"  answered  Diana.  She  was  rery  easily 
brought  round  to  accept  Iris'  view.  In  her  heart  of  hearts 
she  considered  Iris'  verdict  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
iand  Persians — something  which  could  not  possibly  be  dis- 
puted. 

"Run,  Orion !"  she  said ;  "be  quick,  and  fetch  as  many 
dock  leaves  as  possible.  I  will  thread  a  needle  BO  as  to 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  75 

sew  up  the  poor  dead  'uns  in  their  coffins.  We  must  get 
through  the  pwivate  funerals  as  quick  as  possible  this 
morning,  and  then  we'll  be  weady  for  poor  Rub-a-Dub." 

"Rub-a-Dub  is  to  be  buried  exactly  at  eleven  o'clock/' 
said  Iris. 

"We'll  all  wear  mourning,  course?"  asked  Diana, 

"Yes;   black  bows." 

"And  are  the  dogs  and  the  other  animals  to  wear  mourn- 
ing?" 

"Black  bows,"  repeated  Iris. 

"That  is  most  lovely  and  'citing,"  said  Diana. 

Orion  left  the  dead-house,  and  presently  returned  with 
a  great  pile  of  dock  leaves.  Then  the  children  sat  down 
on  the  floor  and  began  to  sew  coffins  for  the  different  dead 
Juns.  They  were  accustomed  to  the  work  and  did  it  expe- 
ditiously  and  well.  When  all  the  poor  dead  'uns  were  sup- 
plied with  coffins  they  were  carried  in  a  tray  across  the 
garden  to  the  far-famed  cemetery.  Here  they  were  laid 
in  that  part  of  the  ground  apportioned  to  private  funerals. 
Apollo  made  small  holes  with  his  spade,  and  each  dead 
'un  in  his  small  coffin  was  returned  to  mother  earth.  The 
ground  was  immediately  covered  over,  and  Apollo  tram- 
pled on  it  with  his  feet.  He  did  this  on  the  present  occa- 
sion with  right  good  will.  "I'll  be  rather  glad  when  the 
funerals  are  over,"  he  said,  looking  at  Iris  as  he  spoke, 
"for  I  want  to  get  on  with  my  ship.  I  have  got  hold  of 
some  canvas  the  gardener  brought  me  from  town,  and  I 
really  believe  I  may  be  able  to  make  a  funnel  and  a  place 
for  boiling  water.  You  would  like  to  see  my  ship  when  it 
is  afloat,  would  you  not.  Iris?" 


76  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Yes;  very  much  indeed/'  answered  Iris. 

"I  call  ships  stupid,"  said  Diana.  "I  don't  see  no  use 
in  'em.  Now,  do  let  us  hurry  back.  Poor  Eub-a-Dub 
will  be  so  lonely." 

"It's  you  who  is  silly  now,"  said  Orion.  "You  know 
Rub-a-Dub  can't  feel,  don't  you,  Di  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  'bout  it,"  said  Diana.  "I  want  to  hurry 
back  to  get  his  beautiful  public  funeral  weady.  Now, 
look  here,  'Rion — will  you  go  into  the  house  to  steal  the 
cotton  wool,  or  shall  I?" 

"What  is  that  I  hear?"  said  a  voice  which  seemed  to 
come  from  right  over  the  children's  heads. 

They  all  looked  up  in  alarm,  to  see  Aunt  Jane  Dolman 
and  their  father  standing  close  by.  Mr.  Delaney  wore  an 
amused  and  Aunt  Jane  a  scared  expression. 

"What  were  you  saying,  little  girl  ?"  she  continued,  tak- 
ing Diana  by  her  arm  and  giving  her  a  slight  shake ;  "that 
you  wished  to  steal  something?" 

"Yes;  some  cotton  wool,"  said  Diana;  "it's  most  'por- 
tant;  it's  for  a  public  funeral." 

Mrs.  Dolman  turned  her  round  black  eyes  on  her- 
brother.  Horror  was  expressed  in  each  movement  of  her 
face. 

"My  dear  Jane,"  he  said,  sotto  voce,  "there  are  several 
things  which  these  children  do  which  will  astonish  you 
very  much.  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  give  up  the 
scheme  ?" 

"Not  I,  David,"  she  replied.  "The  more  I  see  of  the 
poor  neglected  mites,  the  more  I  long  to  rescue  them  from 
evident  destruction." 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  77 

He  shook  his  head  and  looked  with  some  pity  at  Iris. 

"Shall  Orion  go  to  steal  the  cotton  wool?"  repeated 
Diana,  who  looked  as  if  it  was  impossible  for  anyone  in 
this  world  to  terrify  her  in  the  very  least. 

"If  it  must  be  stolen,  and  if  you  ask  me/'  said  Mr.  De- 
laney,  "perhaps  Orion  may  as  well  be  the  thief  as  anyone 
else.  In  the  old  times  of  the  heathen  deities  I  believe  they 
did  now  and  then  stoop  to  that  small  crime." 

"David,  it  is  appalling  to  hear  you  speak,"  said  Mrs. 
Dolman.  "Orion,  I  hate  to  pronounce  your  name,  but 
listen  to  me,  little  boy.  I  forbid  you  to  go  if  you  are  bent 
on  theft." 

"But  I  must  go,"  said  Orion.  "Poor  Eub-a-Dub  must 
be  buried,  and  I  must  have  a  box  for  his  coffin  and  cotton 
wool  to  lay  him  in." 

"See  here,  Orion,"  said  the  father;  "where  do  you  get 
the  cotton  wool  ?" 

"We  gen'ly  get  it  from  Fortune's  box  in  the  night- 
nursery,"  replied  Orion. 

"And  you  steal  it?" 

"Oh,  yes;  she  would  make  such  a  fuss  if  we  asked  her 
for  some.  We  always  steal  it  for  public  funerals." 

"Well,  on  this  occasion,  and  to  spare  your  aunt's  feel- 
ings, tell  Fortune  that  I  desire  her  to  give  you  some." 

"Now,  Jane,"  continued  Mr.  Delaney,  "as  you  are  here, 
and  as  I  am  here,  we  may  both  of  us  as  well  witness  this 
ceremony.  The  children  are  fond  of  doing  all  honor  to 
their  pets,  even  after  the  supreme  moment  of  dissolution. 
Shall  we  witness  this  public  funeral?" 

Mrs.  Dolman  looked  wonderfully  inclined  to  say  "No" 


78  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

but  as  her  object  now  was  to  humor  her  brother  as  far  as 
possible,  she  agreed  very  unwillingly  to  wait. 

Accordingly  he  and  she  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
lovely  garden,  and  soon,  in  the  interest  which  the  sight 
of  the  unforgotten  playground  of  her  youth  excited  within 
her,  her  brow  cleared,  and  she  became  pleasant  and  even 
talkative.  The  two  were  in  the  midst  of  a  very  interesting 
conversation,  and  were  pacing  up  and  down  not  far  from 
the  summer-house,  when  Orion's  clear  voice  was  heard. 
"The  public  funeral  is  going  to  begin/'  he  shouted,  "so 
you  had  best  come  along  if  you  want  to  see  it.  If  you 
don't,  Diana  and  me,  and  Apollo  and  Iris — why,  we  don't 
care." 

"Oh,  we'll  come,  you  rude  little  body,"  said  his  father, 
laughing  and  chuckling  as  he  spoke.  "You  mark  my 
words,  Jane/'  he  continued,  "you  will  have  a  handful  with 
those  children." 

"Oh,  I'll  manage  them,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "I  have 
not  lived  my  thirty- five  years  for  nothing;  they  certainly 
need  managing,  poor  little  spoilt  creatures." 

They  both  hurried  to  the  cemetery,  where  Apollo  was 
standing,  having  dug  a  grave  nearly  a  foot  deep,  and  large 
enough  to  hold  a  square  cardboard  box.  He  stood  leaning 
on  his  spade  now,  his  hat  pushed  off,  his  handsome  little 
face  slightly  flushed  with  the  exercise,  his  eyes  full  of  a 
sort  of  gloomy  defiance.  But  now  the  funeral  procession 
was  coming  on  apace.  Orion's  mouth  was  much  puffed 
out  because  he  was  blowing  vigorously  on  his  Jew's  harp, 
Diana  followed  him  beating  a  little  drum,  and  Iris,  with 
long  black  ribbons  fastened  to  her,  flowing  chestnut  locks, 


The  Poor  Dead  'Uns.  79 

was  walking  behind,  carrying  the  tiny  coffin.  Iris,  as  she 
walked,  rang  an  old  dinner  bell  in  a  very  impressive  man- 
ner, and  also  sang  a  little  dirge  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  bell  and  the  two  other  children's  music.  These  were 
the  words  Iris  sang: 

' ' Ding-a-dong,  Bub-a-Dub's  dead; 

Good-by,  Eub-a-Dub. 

Sleep  well  in  your  little  bed; 

Good-by,  Bub-a-Dub. 

"We'll  put  a  stone  at  your  head  and  your  feetj 

Good-by,  Eub-a-Dub. 
And  you  shall  sleep  very  sound  and  sweet; 

Good-by,  Eub-a-Dub. 
And  you'll  never  know  fear  any  more; 

Little  dear; 
Good-by,  Eub-a-Dub." 

Iris  was  a  poet  on  occasions,  and  she  had  made  up  these 
impressive  lines  in  great  haste  while  the  other  children 
were  arranging  minor  details  of  the  funeral. 

As  the  mourning  party  approached  the  open  grave, 
Apollo  came  forward  and  dropped  on  his  knees.  The 
coffin  was  supplied  with  strings  of  white  satin  ribbon, 
and  was  lowered  with  great  solemnity  into  the  grave. 
Then  the  four  mourners  stood  over  it  and  each  of  them 
sang  the  last  words  of  Iris'  poem: 

"And   you'll   never   know    fear   any   more, 

Little  dear; 
Good-by,  Eub-a-Dub." 
The  moment  this  was  over  flowers  were  strewn  upon  the 

box,  and  Apollo  with  great  vigor  began  to  shovel  in  the 
earth. 

"Make  a  nice  high  mound,"  said  Diana ;  "let  it  look  as 
like  a  weal  gwave  as  possible."  Then  she  turned  eagerly 
to  her  sister.  "When  are  we  to  see  about  making  the 
tombstone  for  the  head  and  the  feet  ?"  she  asked. 


80  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"We'll  talk  it  over  this  evening,"  answered  Iris. 

It  may  here  be  noted  that  none  of  the  four  mourners 
took  the  slightest  notice  of  Mr.  Delaney  or  of  Mrs.  Dol- 
man. To  them  it  was  as  if  these  two  grown-up  spectators 
did  not  exist — they  were  all  lost  in  their  own  intensely 
important  world. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  as  she  turned  away  with  her 
brother,  "of  all  the  heathenish  and  wicked  nonsense  that  I 
was  ever  permitted  to  witness,  this  beats  everything.  It  is 
a  right  good  thing — yes,  I  will  say  it  frankly,  David — that 
you  are  going  abroad,  and  that  your  benighted  children 
are  handed  over  to  me.  When  you  come  back  in  a  year 
or  two — I  assure  you,  my  dear  brother,  I  do  not  wish  to 
hurry  you — -but  when  3rou  come  back  in  a  few  years  you 
will  see,  please  Providence,  very  different  children  waiting 
to  welcome  you." 

"Well,  Jane,"  said  David  Delaney,  "I  have  arranged  to 
give  the  children  to  you,  and  I  hope  to  Heaven  I  am  doing 
right;  but  do  not  spoil  them,  whatever  you  do,  for  to 
me  and  to  their  sainted  mother  they  were  ever  the  sweetest 
little  quartette  that  breathed  the  breath  of  life."  Mr. 
Delaneys  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears  as  he  said  these 
words.  "Good-by,  Eub-a-Dub,"  he  whispered  as  he  left  the 
garden.  "Yes,  there  are  many  good-bys  in  the  air  just 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

BUT  ANN   COULD  NOT  HELP  LETTING  OUT  NOW  AND  THEN. 

The  Eectory  at  Super-Ashton  was  a  large,  sunny,  cheer- 
ful house.  It  was  filled  with  every  modern  convenience, 
and  possessed  plenty  of  rooms  papered  with  light,  bright- 
looking  papers,  and  painted  also  in  cheerful  colors.  The 
windows  were  large  and  let  in  every  scrap  of  sunshine; 
the  passages  and  hall  and  stairs  were  broad  and  roomy; 
the  nurseries  and  the  children's  rooms  were  models  of 
comfort;  the  servants  were  all  well  behaved  and  thor- 
oughly accustomed  to  their  duties;  the  meals  were  punc- 
tual to  a  moment;  in  fact,  nothing  was  left  to  chance  at 
Super-Ashton  Eectory. 

Mrs.  Dolman  was  the  life  and  soul  of  this  extremely 
orderly  English  home.  She  was  one  of  the  most  active 
little  women  in  the  world.  She  invariably  got  up,  summer 
and  winter,  soon  after  six  o'clock,  and  might  be  seen 
bustling  about  the  house,  and  bustling  about  the  garden, 
and  bustling  about  the  parish  from  that  moment  until  she 
retired  to  rest  again,  somewhere  between  ten  and  eleven  at 
night.  She  was  never  exactly  cross,  but  she  was  very 
determined.  She  had  strict  ideas,  and  made  everyone  in 
the  parish  not  only  respect  her  and  look  up  to  her,  but  live 
up  to  her  rule  of  life.  She  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  thought 

81 


82  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

a  great  deal  more  of  by  the  parishioners  than  her  husband, 
the  Eeverend  William  Dolman,  and  the  real  Rector  of 
Super-Ashton. 

Mr.  Dolman  was  a  very  large  man,  tall  in  stature  and 
broad.  He  was  also  fat  and  loosely  built.  He  had  a 
kindly  face  and  a  good-humored  way  of  talking.  He 
preached  very  fair  sermons  on  Sundays,  and  attended  to 
his  duties,  but  without  any  of  the  enthusiasm  which  his 
wife  displayed. 

When  Mrs.  Dolman  wrote  to  her  husband  to  say  that 
she  was  returning  home  with  the  four  little  Delaneys,  it 
caused  considerable  excitement  at  the  breakfast  table. 
Five  little  hearts  beat  considerably  faster  than  usual;  but 
so  great  were  the  order  and  regularity  of  the  household 
that  the  five  little  faces  to  which  the  hearts  belonged  re- 
mained apparently  impassive. 

Miss  Ramsay,  the  governess,  was  presiding  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  The  Dolman  girls  were  neatly  dressed  in 
print  frocks  with  white  pinafores;  the  boys  wore  holland 
blouses  and  knickerbockers.  The  boys  happened  to  be  the 
two  youngest  of  the  family,  and  none  of  the  children  had 
yet  gone  to  school.  The  name  and  ages  of  the  five  were 
as  follows:  First  came  Lucy,  aged  twelve;  then  Mary, 
aged  ten;  then  Ann,  aged  nine;  then  Philip  and  Conrad, 
aged  respectively  seven  and  a  half  and  six.  The  faces  of 
the  whole  five  bore  a  curious  resemblance  to  both  father 
and  mother,  the  eldest  girl  having  the  round,  black  eyes 
of  her  mother,  and  the  large  somewhat  irregular  fea- 
tures of  the  father.  Mary  resembled  Lucy  in  being 
?at  and  largely  built,  but  her  eyes  were  blue  instead 


Ann  Could  Not  Help  Letting  Out.  83 

of  black;  while  little  Ann  had  a  small  face,  with  gray 
eyes  and  rather  sensitive  lips.  The  complexions  of  the 
three  were  fair,  and  their  good  looks  were  rather  above  the 
average.  They  were  proper,  neat-looking  little  girls,  and, 
notwithstanding  their  inward  excitement,  they  ate  their 
breakfast  tidily,  and  took  good  care  not  to  express  any 
emotion  before  Miss  Eamsay  or  their  good-natured  father. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Dolman,  looking  at  them,  and  pushing 
his  spectacles  up  on  his  forehead,  "yes,  that  is  the  news. 
Your  mother  returns  to-night,  and  the  four  Delaneys  with 
her.  Let  me  see  what  else  she  says."  He  replaced  his 
spectacles  on  his  nose  and  looked  over  his  wife's  letter 
again.  "These  are  the  very  words,"  he  said.  "Observe, 
Miss  Eamsay,  that  I  read  from  the  letter.  'I  return  by 
the  train  which  reaches  Super-Ashton  at  six  o'clock,  and 
will  bring  the  four  Delaneys  with  me.'  Four,  you  see, 
Lucy;  that  is  the  number.  But  mamma  does  not  mention 
the  sex  of  the  children.  How  many  boys  or  how  many 
girls?  I  really  am  quite  out  of  date  with  regard  to  your 
cousins,  my  love." 

"But  I  know  all  about  them,  papa,"  burst  from  Ann's 
eager  lips. 

"You  forget  your  French,  Ann,"  said  Miss  Eamsay, 
laying  her  hand  on  the  little  girl's  arm.  "You  will  be 
punished  if  you  speak  English  again  at  meals." 

Ann  colored  and  dropped  her  eyes.  She  began  to  eat 
her  bread  and  butter  hastily ;  she  longed  beyond  words  to 
tell  the  others  the  knowledge  she  had  secretly  acquired 
about  her  cousins,  the  Delaneys. 

"  'Please  send  the  wagonette  to  the  station,' "  continued 


84  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Mr.  Dolman,  reading  his  wife's  letter,  and  holding  it  close 
to  his  eyes,  "'and — yes,  the  cart  for  the  luggage,  as  the 
children' — um,  um,  um,  that  part  is  private,  my  dears." 

Mr.  Dolman  dropped  his  spectacles  and  nodded  at  the 
eager  little  group  round  the  table. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "I  am  glad  mamma  is  coming 
home.  I  have  really  been  quite  bothered  by  the  parish- 
ioners since  she  went  away.  There  is  always  a  vast  deal 
of  work  left  undone  when  mamma  is  absent,  eh,  children  ? 
eh,  Miss  Ramsay  ?" 

"I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Dolman,"  said  Miss  Ramsay. 
"Mrs.  Dolman  does  not  spare  herself;  she  will  have  her 
reward  some  day." 

"God  grant  it !"  said  Mr.  Dolman,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
"She  certainly  will  need  rest  whenever  she  does  leave  this 
world,  for  I  never  did  come  across  such  an  active  woman." 

He  left  the  room,  hitching  up  his  huge  shoulders  as  he 
did  so,  and  slammed  the  door  noisily  behind  him. 

"Papa  would  not  do  that  if  mamma  were  here,"  whis- 
pered Philip  to  Ann. 

Ann  said  "Hush!"  in  a  frightened  tone,  and  then  Miss 
Ramsay  folded  her  hands  as  an  intimation  to  the  children 
that  the  meal  was  at  an  end,  and  that  one  of  them  was  to 
say  grace. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  they  went  upstairs  to  the 
schoolroom,  and  lessons  began,  just  as  if  no  four  little 
Delaneys  were  to  arrive  to  turn  everything  topsy-turvy 
that  evening. 

Lessons  proceeded  without  any  interruption  until  twelve 
o'clock.  Then  the  three  little  girls  retired  to  the  neat 


Ann  Gould  Not  Help  Letting  Out.  85 

bedroom  which  they  shared  together,  and  put  on  their 
sun-bonnets,  their  white  capes,  and  their  washing-gloves, 
and  came  back  again  to  Miss  Eamsay,  equipped  for  their 
walk.  The  boys,  with  straw  hats  sticking  very  far  back 
on  their  heads,  were  also  waiting  Miss  Ramsay's  pleasure 
in  the  hall  downstairs.  The  children  and  the  governess 
went  out  walking  solemnly  two  and  two,  Miss  Ramsay 
and  Conrad  in  front,  Lucy  and  Mary  following,  with  Ann 
and  Philip  behind. 

It  was  a  hot  day;  but  Miss  Ramsay  never  excused  the 
morning  walk  on  the  dusty  highroads.  The  children  came 
in  very  much  flushed  and  tired  at  one  o'clock  for  dinner. 
They  assembled  again  in  the  big,  cool  dining-room  and  ate 
their  roast  mutton  and  peas  and  new  potatoes,  and  rice 
pudding  and  stewed  fruit  with  the  propriety  of  children 
who  have  been  thoroughly  well  brought  up. 

At  dinner  French  was  again  the  only  language  allowed 
to  be  spoken.  In  consequence  there  was  a  sad  dearth  of 
any  conversation  at  that  dinner  table. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Dolman  told  Miss  Ramsay  that  he  had 
given  orders  about  the  wagonette,  and  he  supposed  Simp- 
son knew  about  the  sleeping  arrangements,  as  he  was  given 
to  understand  that  she  had  received  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Dolman. 

"I  have  spoken  to  Simpson,"  replied  Miss  Ramsay, 
dropping  her  eyes  as  she  made  the  remark,  "and  she  fully 
understands  what  is  expected  of  her.  The  two  girls  are 
to  have  small  rooms  to  themselves,  and  so  is  the  eldest 
boy,  but  the  youngest  will  sleep  in  the  nursery  with  Philip 
and  Conrad.  Those  are  Mrs.  Dolman's  directions." 


86  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Dolman.  "Anything 
Mrs.  Dolman  wishes,  of  course.  Miss  Ramsay,  I  shall  not 
be  home  to  tea  this  evening.  I  have  to  go  to  visit  a  sick 
parishioner  at  the  other  end  of  the  parish.  Good-by, 
Lucy;  good-by,  the  rest  of  you  children.  I  hope  to  see 
you  all  before  bedtime;  if  not " 

"But,  father,"  burst  from  Ann,  "the  new  children  will 
be  here  about  six." 

"They  cannot  arrive  before  half-past  six,  my  dear," 
replied  Mr.  Dolman. 

"Ann,  you  have  again  spoken  English,"  said  Miss  Eam- 
,say;  "I  shall  be  forced  to  punish  you.  You  will  have  to 
stay  in  after  the  others  this  afternoon,  and  learn  ten  lines 
of  your  French  poetry." 

Poor  little  Ann  colored  and  her  lips  trembled.  She 
really  felt  dreadfully  excited,  and  it  was  terrible  to  have 
to  bottle  up  all  her  thoughts  during  the  long,  hot  day. 

Immediately  after  dinner  the  children  went  up  to  the 
schoolroom,  where  they  lay  down  on  the  floor  for  half  an 
hour  to  learn  their  lessons. 

At  three  o'clock  the  ordinary  lessons  began  again,  and 
went  on  without  interruption  until  five,  when  there  was 
tea.  After  tea  the  children  were  supposed  to  have  the 
rest  of  the  day  to  do  what  they  liked  in.  But  on  this  occa- 
sion Ann  was  kept  in  the  schoolroom  to  learn  her  French 
poetry  as  best  she  could.  The  ten  lines  were  difficult,  and 
the  little  girl  felt  sleepy,  cross,  and  dissatisfied.  Soon  her 
small,  curly  head  fell  upon  her  plump  arms,  and  sleep  took 
possession  of  her  little  soul. 


Ann  Could  Not  Help  Letting  Out.  87 

Miss  Ramsay  came  in  and  found  her  in  a  state  of  heavy 
slumber. 

"Ann!"  she  cried;  "Ann!" 

Little  Ann  raised  herself  with  a  start. 

"Oh,  please,  Miss  Ramsay,  won't  you  excuse  the  French 
poetry  today?"  she  cried;  "I  am  so " 

"So  what,  Ann?  I  am  surprised  at  you.  What  can  be 
the  matter  ?" 

"I  am  so  excited  about  the  little  Delaneys,"  answered 
Ann.  "They  are  coming  so  soon,  and  they  are  my  own 
first  cousins — I  seem  to  see  them  all  the  day — they  come 
between  me  and — and  my  poetry.  Please,  Miss  Ramsay, 
if  you'll  only  allow  me  I'll  get  up  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  learn  it  perfectly.  Do  say  I  need  not  finish  it  this 
afternoon — do,  please." 

Miss  Ramsay  was  astonished  and  annoyed  at  this  rebel- 
lion on  the  part  of  Ann. 

"You  surprise  me,"  she  said.  "You  know  that  lessons 
have  to  be  done  during  lesson  hours,  and  that  rules  are 
not  to  be  broken.  You  know  what  your  mother  would 
say  if  she  heard  you  talking  English  at  meals.  Twice 
to-day  you  broke  through  that  rule.  The  first  time  I 
pardoned  you — the  second  time  it  was  unpardonable.  Now, 
my  dear,  apply  yourself  to  your  task — get  it  well  over,  and 
you  will  doubtless  be  ready  to  welcome  your  cousins  when 
they  arrive." 

Miss  Ramsay  left  the  room.  Ann  shed  a  few  tears,  and 
then,  seeing  there  was  no  help  for  it,  applied  herself  with 
all  her  might  and  main  to  learning  her  appointed  task. 
She  got  her  poetry  by  heart  after  a  fashion,  and,  hastily 
replacing  the  book  in  the  bookcase,  ran  out  of  the  school- 


88  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

room.  She  saw  Lucy  and  Mary  pacing  up  and  down  the 
terrace  in  front  of  the  house.  They  were  in  clean  white 
frocks,  with  sashes  round  their  waists,  and  their  hair  was 
very  trimly  brushed  and  curled  over  their  heads.  Their 
faces  shone  from  soap  and  water,  and  even  at  that  distance 
Ann  could  perceive  that  their  hands  were  painfully,  ter- 
ribly clean.  In  her  heart  of  hearts  Ann  hated  clean  hands ; 
they  meant  so  much  that  was  unpleasant — they  meant  that 
there  must  be  no  grubbing  in  the  garden,  no  searching  for 
dear  little  weeds  and  small  flowers,  and  all  kinds  of  deli- 
cious, unexpected  things  in  mother  earth.  In  her  heart 
of  hearts  Ann  had  a  spark  of  originality  of  her  own,  but 
it  had  little  chance  of  nourishing  under  the  treatment  so 
carefully  pursued  at  Super-Ashton. 

Philip  and  Conrad  might  also  be  seen  on  the  terrace  in 
their  clean  linen  blouses  and  fresh  knickerbockers;  their 
hands  were  also  carefully  washed,  their  hair  brushed  back 
from  their  faces,  the  faces  themselves  shining  from  soap 
and  water. 

"Oh,  dear !  there's  no  help  for  it,"  thought  little  Ann ; 
"I  must  go  into  the  nursery  and  let  Simpson  pull  me 
about.  How  she  will  scrub  me  and  tug  at  my  hair,  and 
put  on  such  a  horrid  starched  dress,  and  it's  so  hot  to- 
night !  Well,  if  I  hurry  I  may  be  in  time  to  tell  Philip 
what  I  know  about  their  names.  Oh,  how  delicious  it 
will  be !  He'll  be  so  excited.  Yes,  I'll  be  as  quick  as  pos- 
sible." 

Ann  ran  down  the  long  passage  which  led  from  the 
schoolroom  to  the  nursery,  opened  the  door,  and  approached 


Ann  Could  Not  Help  Letting  Out.  89 

a  prim  old  servant  with  a  somewhat  cross  face,  who  was 
busily  engaged  mending  stockings. 

"Please,  Simpson,  here  I  am.  Will  you  dress  me?" 
said  Ann,  panting  as  she  spoke. 

Simpson  laid  down  her  work  with  deliberation. 

"Now,  I  wonder,  Miss  Ann,"  she  said,  "why  I  am  to 
be  put  about  for  you.  I  have  just  finished  dressing  all 
the  other  children.  Why  didn't  you  come  with  the 
others?  There,  miss,  you  must  just  dress  yourself,  for 
I  can't  and  won't  be  worried;  these  stockings  must  be 
finished  before  the  mistress  comes  home." 

"All  right,"  answered  Ann,  in  a  cheerful  tone.  "I 
can  wash  myself  beautifully.  May  I  go  into  the  night- 
nursery,  please,  Simpson,  and  do  my  best?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  You'll  find  a  white  frock  hanging 
in  the  wardrobe.  I'll  fasten  it  for  you  after  you  have 
washed  yourself  and  combed  out  your  hair.  Now,  do 
be  quick.  I  would  help  you  willingly,  Miss  Ann,  only 
I  really  have  not  a  minute  to  spare;  Master  Philip  and 
Master  Conrad  are  dreadful  with  their  socks,  and  when 
the  mistress  comes  with  that  fresh  family,  goodness 
knows  when  I  shall  have  a  moment  to  see  to  your  clothes 
again." 

Ann  dressed  herself,  and  ran  back  to  Simpson. 

"Simpson,"  she  said,  as  that  good  woman  was  fasten- 
ing the  hooks  and  eyes  at  the  back  of  her  frock,  "I  know 
it  is  wrong  to  be  so  much  excited,  but  I  am.  My  heart 
beats  awfully  fast  at  the  thought  of  their  coming." 

"Well,  Miss  Ann,  it's  more  than  my  heart  does.  And 
now,  miss,  if  you'll  take  a  word  of  advice  from  me, 


90  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

you'll  keep  your  feelin's  to  yourself,  as  far  as  your  ma 
is  concerned.  Your  ma  don't  wish  any  of  you  to  give 
way  to  excitement.  She  wants  you  to  grow  up  steady, 
well-conducted  young  ladies." 

"I  hate  being  a  well-conducted  young  lady,"  burst  from 
little  Ann. 

"Oh,  dear  me,  miss !  it's  dreadful  to  hear  you  talk  so 
unproper.  Now  stand  still  and  don't  fidget." 

The  frock  was  fastened,  and  Ann  ran  off  to  join  her 
brothers  and  sisters  on  the  terrace. 

Lucy  and  Mary  were  little  girls  after  their  mother's 
own  heart.  They  never  questioned  her  wishes,  they  never 
rebelled  against  her  rules,  they  were  as  good  and  well- 
behaved  as  any  two  little  English  maids  of  the  respective 
ages  of  twelve  and  ten  could  be.  Now,  as  little  Ann 
approached,  they  looked  at  her  as  if  they  thought  her 
quite  beneath  their  notice. 

"Oh,  do  go  away,  Ann!"  said  Lucy.  "Mary  and  I 
are  talking  secrets,  and  we  don't  want  you." 

"You  are  always  talking  secrets,"  said  Ann.  "It's 
horrid  unfair  to  me." 

"We  have  got  to  talk  things  over.  We  can't  confide 
in  you;  you're  the  youngest.  Please  don't  be  disagreeable 
now.  We  are  having  a  most  important  talk.  Please  run 
away  at  once." 

Ann  looked  beseeching,  but  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  Philip.  She  turned,  ran  up  to  him,  clutched 
him  by  the  arm,  and  pulled  him  away  from  Conrad. 

"Phil,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  have  you  all  to  myself. 
I  have  something  terribly  exciting  to  say." 


Ann  Could  Not  Help  Letting  Out.  91 

Philip  looked  from  Conrad  to  Ann. 

"But  you  are  always  getting  into  hot  water,  Ann/' 
he  replied,  "and  Con  and  I  were  talking  about  our  fishes. 
We  think  if  we  are  very  careful  with  our  pocket-money 
we  may  have  enough  to  buy  some  gold  and  silver  fish 
in  the  holidays." 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Ann  impetuously;  "buy  any  kind 
of  fish  you  like.  Only,  Con,  like  a  dear,  good  boyy  please 
go  and  walk  at  the  other  end  of  the  terrace  for  five  min- 
utes. I  must  speak  to  someone  or  I'll  burst." 

"How  awfully  vulgar  you  are,  Ann !"  said  Lucy,  who 
happened  to  pass  by,  with  Mary  leaning  on  her  arm,  at 
that  moment. 

But  Philip  felt  flattered  at  Ann's  evident  anxiety  to 
be  alone  with  him. 

"Go  and  do  as  you  are  told,  Conrad/'  he  said,  in  lofty 
tones;  "go  to  the  other  end  of  the  terrace  at  once." 

"It's  rather  hard  on  me,"  said  Conrad.  "I  like  having 
secrets  as  well  as  anybody  else;  the  air  is  full  of  secrets 
to-day — why  shouldn't  I  have  some?" 

"I'll  have  a  secret  with  you  by  and  by,"  said  Ann,  "if 
you'll  only  go  away  now." 

The  little  boy  looked  at  her,  saw  she  was  in  earnest, 
and  obeyed  somewhat  unwillingly. 

"Now  then,  Ann,"  said  Philip,  "speak  out;  be  as  quick 
as  ever  you  can." 

"Philip,"  said  Ann,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "don't  you  want 
to  know  all  about  the  children  who  are  coming  to-night?" 

"Is  that  what  the  secret  is  about?"  said  Philip  in  dis- 
gust. "Do  you  know,  Ann,  what  I  heard  Mis«  Eamsay 


92  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

say  to  Simpson  to-day.  She  said  that  the  new  children 
would  be  awful  bothers,  and  that  she  for  one  does  not 
know  if  she  is  going  to  stay,  and  Simpson  said  she  was 
sure  that  she  would  give  notice  too.  Miss  Eamsay  said 
it  was  an  awful  shame  bringing  four  children  to  the 
house,  and  Simpson  threw  up  her  hands.  You  know 
how  she  looks  when  she  throws  up  her  hands.  And  she 
said,  Them's  my  sentiments,  Miss  Eamsay.'  Do  you 
know  what  she  meant  by  *T  hem's  my  sentiments,'  Ann, 
'cos  I  don't?  I  never  heard  such  funny  words  before. 
Did  you,  Ann?" 
Phil." 

"Oh,  I  often  listen !"  replied  Philip  calmly.     "I  get  to 

"No,"  said  Ann;  "but  you  ought  not  to  have  listened, 
know  all  kinds  of  funny  things  that  way,  and  they  turn 
out  no  end  useful.  I  know  lots  of  things  about  Miss 
Eamsay,  and  since  I  just  let  her  know  that  I  did,  she 
is  not  half  so  hard  on  me.  That's  how  I  find  listening 
useful." 

"Well,  it  is  not  right,"  said  Ann,  "but  I  have  no  time 
to  argue  with  you  now,  Phil;  I  want  to  talk  about  the 
children.  Whatever  Simpson  says,  and  whatever  Miss 
Eamsay  says,  I  am  delighted  that  they  are  coming.  I 
think  it  will  be  fun.  In  my  heart,  you  know,  Phil,  I 
love  fun,  and  I  want  to  be  able  to  talk  English  some- 
times, and  Phil,  would,  would  you  like  to  know  their 
names?" 

"Their  names?"  said  Philip.  "I  suppose  they  have 
names,  although  I  never  thought  about  them." 

"Well,  of  course  they  have,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  they 


Ann  Could  Not  Help  Letting  Out.  93 

are.  They  have  got  lovely  names;  once  I  heard  mother 
say  that  the  whole  four  of  them  are  called  after  heathen 
idols.  Isn't  it  awful  and  exciting  to  be  called  after  a 
heathen  idol  ?  Oh,  Phil !  they  have  such  lovely  names !" 

Philip  was  not  much  interested  in  heathen  idols,  but 
Ann's  excited  face  and  her  bright  blue  eyes  did  strike 
him  as  out  of  the  common. 

"Well,  you  are  in  a  state,"  he  said.  "What  creatures 
girls  are  !  You'll  catch  it  when  mother  comes  home.  You 
know  she  never  can  stand  anybody  all  jumpy,  and  jerky, 
and  quivery,  like  you  are  now.  Well,  what  are  the  names  ? 
Out  with  them  and  get  them  over." 

"Iris  is  the  name  of  the  eldest  girl,"  said  Ann.  'Then 
comes  Apollo — he  is  a  boy."  , 

"I'll  never  be  able  to  get  hold  of  that  name,"  said 
Philip.  "Apollo !  how  queer." 

"But  it  is  not  queer,  really,"  said  Ann,  delighted  at 
having  roused  his  real  interest  at  last.  "Of  course  Apollo 
is  very  well  known  indeed.  He  was  a  sort  of  beautiful 
god  long  ago." 

"But  this  boy  is  not  a  god — horrid  little  beggar,"  said 
Philip.  "Well,  what  are  the  names  of  the  others?" 

"There  is  a  girl  called  Diana." 

"Diana,"  repeated  Philip.  "There's  nothing  in  that 
name.  That  name  is  in  the  Bible.  Miss  Kamsay  read 
the  whole  story  aloud  to  us  last  Sunday  when  the  beastly 
rain  kept  dropping  and  dropping  all  day  long.  'Great 
is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians.'  I  rather  like  the  sound, 
but  there's  nothing  at  all  in  a  name  of  that  sort,  Ann." 


94  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Well,  I  didn't  say  there  was,"  answered  Ann.  "I 
only  think  it  awfully  pretty." 

"I  don't  think  much  of  it  for  an  ordinary  girl.  Well, 
now,  what  is  the  other  name?  I'll  call  Conrad  back,  if 
you  are  not  quick." 

"I'll  tell  it  to  you.  Look  here,  Phil,  I  bet  you  never 
heard  a  name  like  it." 

"You  bet?"  said  Philip.  "Oh,  if  mamma  only  heard 
you !" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't  tell  her,"  said  Ann.  "I 
can't  help  letting  out  sometimes,  and  it  does  relieve  me 
so.  The  name  of  the  other  boy  is  Orion,  and  he  is  called 
after  a  cluster  of  stars.  I  do  know  that  much.  And 
oh,  Phil !  Phil !  Phil !  they  are  coming !  they  are  coming !" 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

THE   STRAW   TOO   MUCH. 

The  crunching  of  wheels  was  heard  distinctly  on  the 
gravel  and  the  next  moment  the  wagonette  swept  into 
view.  The  horses  drew  up  with  a  flourish  at  the  front 
door  of  the  pretty  Kectory,  and  the  five  little  Dolmans 
rushed  forward. 

"Stand  back,  children,  and  allow  your  cousins  to  get 
comfortably  out  of  the  carriage,"  called  out  Mrs.  Dolman. 
"No  excitement,  I  beg,  from  any  of  you — I  have  had  quite 
enough  of  that  already.  Stand  quietly  just  where  you 
are.  Lucy,  where  is  Miss  Eamsay?" 

"Up  in  her  room,  I  think,  mamma.     Shall  I  call  her?" 

"Not  at  present,  although  she  ought  to  have  been  here. 
Now,  Iris,  get  4  out  quietly — quietly,  my  dear.  Apollo, 
give  me  your  hand,  you  come  next;  now,  Diana — easy, 
little  girl,  easy — you  will  fall,  if  you  jump  like  that." 

"I  think  nothing  of  a  little  easy  hop  like  that,  aunt," 
replied  Diana.  She  sprang  from  the  carriage,  disdain- 
ing the  use  of  the  steps.  When  she  found  herself  on  the 
gravel  sweep  she  stood  very  firmly  on  her  two  fat  legs 
and  looked  her  five  cousins  over. 

"You  aren't  none  of  you  much  to  boast,"  she  said ;  "I'd 
95 


96  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

wather  have  the  animals."  Then  she  turned  her  back  and 
gazed  around  her  at  the  view. 

Meanwhile,  Orion  was  being  helped  out  of  the  carriage. 
He  was  also  very  sturdy  and  independent,  and  felt  half 
inclined  to  follow  Diana's  spirited  example;  but  Mrs. 
Dolman  would  not  permit  this.  She  took  the  youngest 
of  the  little  heathen  gods  firmly  into  her  arms  and  de- 
posited him  on  the  gravel. 

"There  you  are,  little  boy,"  she  said,  giving  him  a 
slight  shake  as  she  did  so,  "and  I  do  trust  you  will  be- 
have yourself." 

Orion  ran  up  to  Diana  and  took  hold  of  her  hand. 
Diana  took  no  notice  of  him,  but  continued  to  admire  the 
view. 

Mrs.  Dolman's  face  was  quite  red.  She  was  very  tired 
after  her  long  journey,  and  she  had  found  the  little  De- 
laneys  not  the  easiest  traveling  companions  in  the  world. 
It  is  true  that  Iris  had  been  as  good  as  possible,  but 
between  whiles  she  had  cried  a  good  deal,  and  her  sad 
face,  and  somewhat  reproachful  expression,  seemed  to 
hurt  Mrs.  Dolman  even  more  than  the  really  obstrep- 
erous, and  at  times  violent,  behavior  of  her  brothers  and 
sister;  for  the  fact  is,  the  other  three  little  Delaneys  had 
not  yet  got  the  slightest  idea  into  their  heads  that  they 
were  bound  to  obey  Mrs.  Dolman.  Far  from  this;  a 
sudden  and  extreme  naughtiness  had  taken  possession 
of  their  unruly  little  hearts.  Even  Iris'  gentle  words 
had  no  effect  on  them.  They  hated  Aunt  Jane;  con- 
sidering her,  in  their  heart  of  hearts,  extremely  cruel 
and  unworthy  of  affection.  Had  she  not  parted  them  at 


The  Straw  too  Much.  97 

one  blow  from  their  father,  their  home,  their  lovely  gar- 
den, even  from  poor  Fortune,  who  was  better  than  nobody, 
and,  above  all,  from  their  darling,  precious  pets?  They 
had  none  of  them  been  broken-hearted  children  when  their 
mother  died,  but  they  all,  even  Iris,  felt  broken-hearted 
now.  But  this  fact  did  not  prevent  their  being  extremely 
naughty  and  rebellious,  and  when  Diana  felt  Orion's 
hand  clutching  hers,  she  whispered  to  him  in  an  indignant 
voice : 

"Come  'long,  'Rion,  let's  have  a  wun — my  legs  is  so 
stiff;  and,  Orion,  I  has  got  the  box,  and  we  can  open  it 
when  we  is  away  by  our  two  selves." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  little  children,  ques- 
tioned Mary  Dolman.  "You  mean  to  run  away  all  by  your- 
selves. But  you  must  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  This  is 
not  the  hour  for  running  about  in  the  open  air.  There 
is  supper  ready  for  us  all  in  the  dining-room,  but  I  think 
mamma  would  like  you  first  to  go  upstairs  and  have  your 
faces  and  hands  washed.  If  you  will  follow  me,  I'll  show 
you  where  to  go." 

"Thank  you,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  who  had  over- 
heard her  daughter.  "Ann,  my  dear,  what  are  you  staring 
at  me  for?  Go  and  help  your  cousins.  Now,  you  four 
children,  follow  Lucy  and  Ann  to  your  rooms,  where  my 
servant,  Simpson,  will  attend  upon  you.  Go,  children,  at 
once.  If  there  is  any  naughtiness,  remember  I  shall  have 
to  punish  you  severely." 

"What  do  she  mean  by  that?"  said  Diana,  fixing  her 
eyes  on  Mary's  face.  "I  never  did  like  aunts.  Is  she  your 
aunt?" 


98  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"No;  she  is  my  mother/'  said  Mary,  "and  you  must 
not  speak  in  that  tone  of  mamma." 

"I'll  speak  in  any  tone  I  p'ease,"  replied  Diana.  "I'se 
not  going  to  be  fwightened.  But  what  do  she  mean  by 
punish?  Who  will  she  punish?" 

"She  will  punish  you,"  replied  Mary.  "Were  you  never 
punished  ?" 

"Never.    I  don't  know  what  it  means.    Is  it  nasty  ?" 

"Oh,  isn't  it !"  said  Philip,  who  came  up  at  that  mo- 
ment. "What  a  lark  it  will  be  to  see  you  punished,  Diana. 
I  wonder  when  your  first  time  will  come?  I  expect  rather 
soon.  You  had  best  obey  mamma,  I  can  tell  you,  and 
papa  too;  if  you  don't  you'll  just  catch  it  hot." 

"Boo!"  replied  Diana,  "you  is  a  silly  boy."  Then  she 
turned  to  Mary.  "I  is  awfu'  tired  and  s'eepy,"  she  said. 
"I'd  like  to  go  stwaight  to  bed." 

"You  must  have  supper  first.  Did  you  not  hear  mamma 
say  so?  Now,  come  along  with  me?" 

Mary  held  out  her  hand,  which  Diana,  after  a  mo- 
mentary hesitation,  condescended  to  take. 

Meanwhile,  Ann  had  gone  up  to  Iris. 

"Would  you  not  like  me  to  show  you  jour  room, 
cousin?"  she  said;  "and  please,  I  want  to  say  how  very 
glad  I  am  that  you  have  come." 

A  faint  tinge  of  delicate  color  came  into  Iris'  sweet 
little  face  at  these  words — they  were  the  first  attempt  at 
a  real  welcome  she  had  received.  She  held  out  her  hand 
to  Ann  without  a  word,  and  the  Delaneys  and  Dolmans 
entered  the  cheerful  Eectory  in  a  body.  The  four  little 
strangers,  accompanied  by  Mary  and  Ann,  went  upstairs, 


The  Straw  too  Much.  99 

where  Simpson  was  waiting  for  them.  Simpson  was  feel- 
ing very  cross  at  the  arrival  of  four  additional  children, 
but  when  she  saw  Diana's  tired  face,  and  the  tears  on  Iris' 
pale  cheeks,  and  the  defiant  and  yet  baby  look  in  Orion's 
bright  eyes,  something  came  over  her  which  she  could  not 
quite  account  for,  and  she  suddenly  became  kind  and 
agreeable. 

"Come,  my  dears,"  she  said;  "why,  you  must  all  be 
dead  tired,  you  poor  little  mites.  Come  now — come  in 
here.  And  what  are  your  names?" 

"I  am  Iris,"  replied  the  eldest  little  girl,  in  a  sweet 
voice. 

"Iris!"  repeated  Simpson;  "and  what's  your  name, 
young  master?" 

"Apollo,"  answered  the  little  boy,  flinging  back  his  dark 
head  and  fixing  his  handsome  eyes  upon  the  woman. 

"My  word  I  that's  a  queer  sort  of  name — outlandish,  I 
call  it!"  ejaculated  Simpson.  "And  now,  missy,  I  expect 
you  are  called  Baby?" 

"No,  I  aren't,"  replied  Diana.  "I  is  the  gweat  Diana; 
I  has  got  a  bow  and  arrow,  and  I'll  shoot  you  if  you  is 
not  kind." 

"Oh,  lor7!  Now,  missy,  you  wduld  not  be  so  cruel  as 
that?" 

"Yes,  I  would,"  replied  Diana.  "See  this  box  in  my 
hand?  It's  an  awfu'  pwecious  box — it  has  got  spiders  in 
it  and  two  beetles.  May  I  put  the  poor  darlin's  loose  in 
my  room?" 

Now,  if  Simpson  had  a  horror,  it  was  of  spiders  and 
beetles. 


100  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"You  keep  that  box  shut,  miss,"  she  said,  "for  if  you 
dare  to  open  it  in  your  bedroom  I'll  just  go  straight  down 
and  tell  my  mistress." 

"And  then  you'll  get  punished,  'Diana,"  said  Mary,  in 
her  most  annoying  voice. 

"Is  you  a  cousin?"  asked  Diana,  by  way  of  reply. 

"Certainly  I  am."  Mary  opened  her  round  eyes  in 
some  astonishment. 

"Is  you  my  cousin?" 

"Yes;    I  am  your  first  cousin." 

"First  cousin,"  repeated  Diana.  She  flung  off  her  hat 
and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 

"Orion,"  she  said,  turning  to  her  little  brother,  "you 
take  good  care  of  our  pwecious  box.  And  what  is  you?" 
she  continued,  raising  her  eyes  to  Simpson's  face. 

"Well,  my  dear,  at  the  present  moment  I  am  the  nurse, 
and  ready  to  wash  you  and  look  after  you,  and  make 
you  comfortable." 

"Then  I  wishes  to  say  something"  remarked  Diana. 
"I  wishes  to  say  it  bold,  and  I  wishes  to  say  it  soon.  I 
hate  cousins,  more  'specially  first,  and  I  hate  nurses. 
There,  now,  you  can  go  downstairs,  first  cousin,  and  tell 
aunt,  and  she  can  punish  me.  I  don't  care.  You  can  tell 
your  mamma  just  what  you  p'ease." 

Diana  strutted  across  the  room,  deposited  her  box  on  the 
washhand-stand,  and  then,  turning  round  once  again, 
began  to  view  the  company.  What  might  have  hap- 
pened at  that  moment  there  is  no  saying,  if  Iria  had  not 
come  to  the  rescue. 

"Please  don't  mind  her,"  she  said;   "she  is  only  a  very 


The  Straw  too  Much.  101 

little  child,  and  she  has  gone  through  great  trouble,  for 
our  mother — our  own  mother — she  has  left  us,  you  know. 
Diana  does  not  really  mean  to  be  rude.  Please  let  me 
talk  to  her.  Di,  darling,  come  to  me,  come  to  Iris." 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  Iris  when  she  spoke  in  that 
tone,  and  when  she  looked  at  Diana  with  her  speaking 
dark  eyes,  and  that  gentle,  beautiful  expression  on  her 
little  face,  it  seemed  to  Diana  then  as  if  the  hard  journey, 
and  the  pain  of  all  the  partings,  had  never  taken  place 
at  all.  She  rushed  up  to  her  sister,  clasped  her  fat  arms 
round  her  neck,  and  began  to  sob. 

"Poor  little  thing,  she  is  dreadfully  tired!"  said  Iris. 
"If  I  might  have  a  little  bread  and  milk  to  give  her,  and 
then  if  she  might  be  put  to  bed,  I  know  she  would  fall 
asleep  immediately,  and  be  quite  herself  in  the  morning." 

"Indeed,  miss,  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Simpson, 
who  could  not  help  gazing  at  Iris  with  admiration.  "I  see 
you  are  a  very  kind  little  sister,  and  of  course  no  one 
ought  to  mind  the  words  of  a  mere  baby.  I'll  take  it  upon 
me,  miss,  to  do  what  you  suggest,  even  though  my  missus 
may  be  angry.  Oh,  my  word !  there's  the  supper  gong. 
You  must  go  down  at  once,  Miss  Iris,  you  really  must. 
I  cannot  answer  for  two  of  you  being  absent,  but  I  will 
speak  to  Mrs.  Dolman  afterwards,  and  tell  her  that  I  just 
put  Miss  Diana  straight  to  bed,  for  she  was  much  too 
sleepy  to  go  downstairs  again." 

"But  I  won't  let  you  leave  me,  Iris,"  almost  screamed 
Diana,  tightening  her  arms  round  her  sister's  neck. 

"Please  let  me  stay  here,"  said  Iris.     "I  do  not  really 


102  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

want  any  supper,  and  I  know  how  to  manage  her.  She 
has  gone  through  a  great  deal." 

"Well,  miss,  do  you  dare?" 

"Oh,  I  dare  anything!  I  am  quite  positire  certain 
Aunt  Jane  won't  mind  when  I  tell  her  my  own  self  what  I 
have  done." 

"I  will  tell  mamma;  she  shan't  mind,"  said  little  Ann 
suddenly. 

Iris  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled — Ann  siailed  back  at 
her.  The  hearts  of  the  two  little  cousins  were  knit  to- 
gether in  real  love  from  that  moment. 

The  gong  sounded  again  downstairs,  and  this  time  }n  a 
distinctly  angry  manner.  The  three  Dolman  girls  and 
the  two  Delaney  boys  had  to  hurry  off  as  fast  as  they 
could,  and  then  Iris  undressed  Diana  and  put  her  into 
her  snug  little  white  bed. 

"I  is  drefful  unhappy,  Iris,"  said  Diana,  as  she  laid  her 
head  on  her  pillow. 

"But  you  won't  be  in  the  morning,  Diana.  You'll  feel 
brave  and  strong  and  bright  in  the  morning,  just  like  the 
dear  name,  mother  gave  you." 

"Oh,  p'ease,  p'ease,  will  you  see  that  the  spiders  and 
beetles  has  somethin'  to  eat?  They  is  so  far  from  home, 
poor  darlin's,  and  they  has  come  a  drefful  long  journey, 
and  they  may  be  deaded  in  the  morning  if  nothing's  done 
for  'em.  P'ease  see  to  'em ;  won't  you,  Iris  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Iris. 

"Very  well.  Now,  I'll  say  my  pwayers  and  go  stwaight 
off  to  s'eep.  P'ease,  God,  b'ess  Di,  make  her  good  girl. 
Amen.  Good-night,  Iris." 


The  Straw  too  Much.  103 

The  next  moment  the  little  girl  had  gone  away  into 
the  world  of  happy  slumber  and  innocent  dreams.  She 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  what  poor  Iris,  to  her  dis- 
may, soon  discovered,  namely,  that  Simpson  had  marched 
off  with  the  box  which  contained  the  spiders  and  beetles. 
That  box,  with  its  contents,  was  never  found  again.  It 
was  the  straw  too  much,  as  Simpson  expressed  it  after- 
wards. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  PUNISHMENT  CHAMBER. 

The  next  morning  matters  began  by  being  a  little  bet- 
ter, and  might  have  gone  on  being  so  but  for  Diana.  The 
four  little  Delaneys  had  slept  well,  and  were  refreshed; 
and  as  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  there  was  a  pleas- 
ant breeze  blowing,  Mrs.  Dolman  decided  that  all  the 
nine  children  might  have  a  holiday  in  order  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  one  another.  It  did  not  seem  so  very  dread- 
ful to  Iris  and  Apollo  to  have  cousins  to  walk  about  with 
and  talk  to.  Philip  and  Conrad,  too,  were  fairly  kind  to 
little  Orion ;  they  took  him  round  to  see  their  gardens  and 
their  several  pets.  Life  was  certainly  prim  at  the  Rectory 
compared  to  what  it  had  been  at  the  Manor;  but  children 
will  be  children  all  the  world  over,  and  when  there  is  a 
bright  sun  in  the  heavens,  and  flowers  grow  at  their  feet, 
and  a  gentle  breeze  is  blowing,  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
be  all  sulks  and  tears  and  misery.  Even  Diana  was  inter- 
ested in  what  was  going  on.  She  had  never  been  away 
from  home  before,  and  she  found  it  pleasant  to  watch  the 
Dolman  children.  As  she  expressed  it,  in  her  sturdy  fash- 
ion, she  did  not  think  much  of  any  of  them,  but  still  it 
amused  her  to  hear  them  speak,  and  to  take  Ann's  hand 
and  allow  her  to  lead  her  round  the  garden. 

104 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  105 

Ann  was  extremely  kind  to  her,  but  she  only  received  a 
very  qualified  measure  of  approval  from  the  saucy  little 
miss.  Lucy  and  Mary  she  could  not  hear,  but  as  Ann 
showed  her  all  her  treasures,  and  as  Ann  happened  also 
to  be  very  fond  of  animals,  Diana  began  to  chatter,  and 
presently  became  almost  confidential.  Suddenly,  however, 
in  the  midst  of  quite  a  merry  game  of  play,  the  little  girl 
was  heard  to  utter  a  shout. 

"Where's  my  darlin's  that  I  brought  from  home?"  she 
cried;  "my  three  spiders  and  my  four  beetles?  I  have 
not  given  none  of  'em  their  bwekfus.  I  must  wun  and 
fetch  'em.  Iris  promised  to  see  to  'em  last  night,  so  I 
know  they  isn't  deaded;  but  I  must  go  this  very  instant 
minute  to  feed  'em,  'cos,  of  course,  they  wants  their  bwek- 
fus, poor  dears.  If  you  like  I'll  show  'em  to  you,  Ann; 
you  can  see  'em  while  they  is  eating." 

"Please,  Diana,  don't  go !"  called  out  Ann ;  bnt  Diana 
did  not  hear  her.  Putting  wings  to  her  sturdy  little  feet, 
she  sped  across  the  lawn,  ran  helter-skelter  into  the  house, 
and  up  to  the  room  where  she  had  slept. 

The  room  was  empty,  the  windows  were  wide  open, 
the  little  bed  was  neatly  made;  there  was  not  a  sign  of 
the  precious  box  to  be  discovered  anywhere. 

"Where  is  that  howid  old  nurse?"  called  Diana  aloud. 
"She  must  know  where  my  pets  is.  Oh,  they  must  be 
desp'te  hungry,  poor  darlin's.  I  say,  nurse,  where  is  'oo? 
Nurse,  come  'long,  you  howid  old  thing !" 

Simpson,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  day-nursery  not 
far  away,  heard  Diana's  imperious  little  cry.  The  under- 
nurse  was  also  standing  in  the  room. 


106  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Mrs.  Simpson/'  she  said,  "I  hear  one  of  the  strange 
little  ladies  calling  out  for  you." 

"Well,  and  so  do  I  hear  her,"  answered  Mrs.  Simpson, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head;  "but  she  must  learn  to  speak 
respectful  before  I  take  any  notice.  I  fully  expect  it's 
that  pert  little  Miss  Diana.  They  say  she  is  called  after 
one  of  the  heathen  gods ;  no  wonder  she  is  so  fiery  and — " 

But  at  that  moment  the  fierce  little  face,  the  jet-black 
head  and  sparkling  eyes  were  seen  peeping  round  the 
nursery  door. 

"There  you  is,  old  Simpson;  that's  wight,"  said  Diana, 
dancing  up  to  her.  "Now,  p'ease,  tell  me  where  you  put 
my  box." 

"What  box,  miss?  I'll  thank  you,  Miss  Diana,  not  to 
call  me  old  Simpson.  My  name  is  Mrs.  Simpson." 

"I  only  call  you  what  you  is,"  said  Diana.  "You  is  old, 
your  hair  is  gway ;  you  is  awf u'  old,  I  'spect.  Now,  where 
is  my  box?  Where  did  you  put  it,  old — I  mean,  Mrs. 
Simpson?" 

"What  box,  miss  ?"  said  Simpson,  beginning  to  tempor- 
ize, for  she  really  was  afraid  of  the  burst  of  wrath  which 
Diana  might  give  way  to  when  she  learned  the  truth. 

"You  ts  a  stupid,"  said  Diana.  "It's  the  box  what 
holds  my  pwecious  beetles  and  spiders.  I  want  to  feed 
'em.  I'm  just  going  to  catch  flies  for  my  spiders.  I  know 
how  to  catch  'em  quite  well;  and  my  dear  little  beetles, 
too,  must  be  fed  on  bits  of  sugar.  Where  did  you  put  the 
box?  The  woom  I  s'ept  in  is  kite  tidy.  Where  is  the  box ? 
Speak,  can't  you?" 

"Well,  then,  Miss  Diana,  I  must  just  tell  you  the  simple 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  107 

truth.  We  can't  have  no  messing  with  horrid  Terrain  in 
this  honse.  I  would  not  stay  here  for  an  hour  if  I  thought 
those  odious  beetles  and  spiders  were  anywhere  about." 

"Well,  then,  you  can  go,"  said  Diana;  "nobody  wants 
you  to  stay;  you  is  of  no  cons'kence.  I  want  my  darlin' 
pets,  my  little  home  things  that  corned  from  the  lovely 
garden;  my  spiders  and  my  dear  beetles.  Where  did  you 
put  "em?" 

"The  fact  is,  Miss  Diana,  you  want  a  right  good  talk- 
ing to,"  said  Simpson.  "Well,  then,  this  is  the  truth.  I 
have  put  'em  away." 

"Away!   Where?" 

"They  are  gone,  miss;  you'll  never  find  'em  again." 

"Gone !"  cried  Diana,  her  face  turning  pale.  "Gone ! 
Did  Iris  let  you  take  'em  away?" 

"Your  sister  knew  nothing  about  it,  miss.  I  took  the 
box  last  night  and  threw  it  into  the  dust-hole.  I  hope  the 
vermin  inside  are  dead  by  now — horrid,  odious,  disgusting 
things !" 

"Vermin !"  cried  Diana.  Her  great  eyes  leaped,  a  ray 
of  pure  fire  seemed  to  dart  from  them.  She  looked  for 
a  moment  as  if  she  meant  to  strike  Simpson,  but  then, 
thinking  better  of  it,  she  turned  and  rushed  like  a  little 
fury  from  the  room.  Downstairs,  with  her  heart  chok- 
ing, her  breath  coming  fast,  her  whole  little  body  palpitat- 
ing with  the  most  frantic  passion,  she  ran. 

The  first  person  she  happened  to  meet  was  her  uncle, 
Mr.  Dolman.  He  was  coming  sleepily  in  from  the  garden, 
for  the  day  was  getting  intensely  hot.  He  meant  to  go  -to 
his  study  to  begin  to  write  his  sermon  for  next  Sunday. 


108  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

He  did  not  feel  at  all  inclined  to  write  his  sermon,  but  as 
it  had  to  be  got  through  somehow,  he  thought  he  would 
devote  an  hour,  or  perhaps  an  hour  and  a  half,  to  its 
composition  this  morning.  When  he  saw  Diana,  however, 
rushing  madly  through  the  hall,  with  her  eyes  shining,  her 
face  white,  and  her  whole  little  body  quivering  with  excite- 
ment, he  could  not  help  exclaiming  under  his  breath  at 
her  remarkable  beauty. 

"What  a  handsome  little  spitfire !"  he  said  aloud. 

"Spitfire,  indeed !"  said  Diana ;  "it's  you  all  who  is 
spitfires — it's  not  me.  I  want  to  say  something  to  you, 
big  man." 

"Very  well,  small  girl,"  answered  Mr.  Dolman,  "I  am 
willing  to  listen  to  you.  What  is  the  matter?" 

This  was  really  much  more  diverting  than  sitting  down 
to  his  sermon. 

"I  want  you  to  have  that  howid  old  woman  upstairs  put 
in  pwison.  I  want  you  to  get  the  perlice,  and  have  her 
hands  tied,  and  have  her  took  away  to  pwison.  She  has 

done  a  murder — she  has  killed  my "  But  here  little 

Diana's  voice  suddenly  failed;  high  as  her  spirit  was,  it 
could  not  carry  her  any  further.  A  sense  of  absolute  lone- 
liness came  over  her,  and  her  passion  ended  in  a  burst  of 
frantic  weeping. 

And  now  all  might  have  been  well,  for  Mr.  Dolman  was 
a  kind-hearted  man,  and  the  little  child,  in  her  black 
dress,  would  have  appealed  to  him,  and  he  would  have 
taken  her  in  his  arms  and  comforted  her  after  a  fashion, 
and  matters  might  never  have  been  so  sore  and  hard 
again  for  little  Diana,  if  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Dolman 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  109 

had  not  appeared.  She  was  walking  hastily  across  the  hall 
with  her  district-visiting  hat  on.  Mrs.  Dolman's  district- 
visiting  hat  was  made  in  the  shape  of  a  very  large  mush- 
room. It  was  simply  adorned  with  a  band  of  brown  rib- 
bon, and  was  not  either  a  becoming  or  fashionable  head- 
gear. 

Diana,  who  had  a  strong  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  stopped 
her  tears  when  her  aunt  appeared. 

"What  a  poky  old  thing  you  is!"  she  said. 

These  words  enraged  Mrs.  Dolman. 

<rWilliam,"  she  remarked,  "what  are  you  doing  with 
that  child  ?  Why,  you  have  taken  her  in  your  arms ;  put 
her  down  this  minute.  Diana,  you  are  a  very  naughty 
little  girl." 

"So  is  you  a  very  naughty  old  woman,"  retorted  Diana. 
"Fs  not  going  away  from  this  nice  old  man.  I  don't  like 
you.  I'm  going  to  stay  with  you,  old  man,  so  don't  put 
me  down  out  of  your  arms.  You  will  send  for  the  perlice, 
won't  you,  and  you'll  have  that  howid  puson  upstairs 
put  in  pwison.  Go  'way,  aunt.  I  never  did  like  you,  and 
I  never  will,  and  you  is  awfu'  poky  in  that  bonnet.  But 
I'll  go  with  you,  old  man."  Here  she  flung  her  fat  arms 
round  her  uncle's  neck  and  gave  him  a  hug. 

"You  are  not  pwetty  like  faver,"  she  said;  "you  are 
kite  an  ugly  old  man,  but  all  the  same  I  like  you,"  and  she 
kissed  him,  a  slobbering,  wet  kiss  on  his  cheek. 

"Jane,"  said  Mr.  Dolman,  "this  poor  little  girl  is  in 
great  trouble.  I  cannot  in  the  least  make  out  why,  but 
perhaps  you  had  better  let  her  come  with  me  into  the 
library  for  a  few  minutes." 


11*  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"I'll  allow  nothing  of  the  kind/'  answered  Mrs.  Dolman. 
"Diana  Delaney  is  an  extremely  naughty  little  child,  and 
I  am  quite  determined  that  her  spirit  shall  be  broken. 
It  was  all  very  well  for  you  to  go  on  with  your  tantrums 
at  the  Manor,  miss,  but  now  you  are  under  my  control, 
and  you  shall  do  exactly  what  I  wish.  Come,  Diana,  none 
of  this.  What,  you'll  kick  me,  will  you?  Then  I  shall 
have  you  whipped." 

"Whafs  whipped?"  questioned  Diana. 

Mrs.  Dolman  stooped  down  and  lifted  her  into  her  arms. 
She  was  a  stout  and  largely-made  child,  and  the  little 
woman  found  her  somewhat  difficult  to  carry.  She  would 
not  let  her  down,  however,  but  conducted  her  across  the 
cool  hall  and  into  a  room  at  the  further  end  of  the 
passage.  This  room  was  nearly  empty,  matting  covered 
the  floor  and  a  round  table  stood  in  the  center,  while  two 
or  three  high-backed  chairs,  with  hard  seats,  were  placed 
at  intervals  round  the  walls.  It  was  a  decidedly  dreary 
room,  and  rendered  all  the  more  so  because  the  morning 
sun  was  pouring  in  through  the  dusty  panes. 

This  room  was  well  known  to  all  the  little  Dolmans, 
for  it  was  called  the  punishment  chamber.  In  this  room 
they  had  all  of  them  shed  bitter  tears  in  their  time,  and 
some  of  the  spirit  which  had  been  given  to  them  at  their 
birth  was  subdued  and  broken  here,  and  here  they  learned 
to  fear  mamma,  although  not  to  respect  her.  They  were 
all  accustomed  to  this  chamber,  but  little  Diana  Delaney 
had  never  in  the  whole  course  of  her  spirited  six  years 
heard  of  anything  in  the  least  resembling  this  odious  and 
ugly  apartment. 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  Ill 

"Here  you  stay  until  you  beg  my  pardon,"  said  Mrs. 
Dolman;  "and  if  I  hear  you  daring  to  call  me  names 
again,  or  your  uncle  names,  or  doing  anything  but  just 
behaving  like  a  proper  little  Christian  child,  I  shall  have 
you  whipped.  I  believe  in  not  sparing  the  rod,  and  so 
the  child  is  not  spoiled.  What,  you  defy  me,  miss  I" 

"1  hate  you,"  screamed  Diana,  "and  I  want  you  to  go 
to  pwison,  too,  as  well  as  that  awfu'  old  Simpson  upstairs. 
She  has  gone  and  murdered  all  my  animals — she  said  they 
was  vermin.  Oh,  I  hate  you,  aunt !" 

"Hate  me  or  not,  you'll  stay  where  you  are  until  dinner- 
time," said  Mrs.  Dolman,  and  she  left  the  room,  locking 
the  door  after  her. 

Diana  flew  to  it  and  kicked  it  furiously,  but  although 
she  kicked  and  screamed  and  shouted  herself  hoarse,  no 
one  heard  her,  and  no  one  came  to  the  rescue.  At  last, 
worn  out  with  her  frantic  grief,  she  threw  herself  down 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and,  babylike,  forgot  her  sor- 
rows in  profound  slumber. 

The  rest  of  the  children  were  having  a  fairly  happy 
morning,  and  Iris,  who  was  trying  to  make  the  best  of 
things,  did  not  miss  her  little  sister  until  the  preparation 
gong  for  dinner  sounded.  The  moment  its  sonorous  notes 
were  heard  pealing  over  the  Eectory  garden,  little  Ann  got 
up  soberly,  and  Lucy  and  Mary  also  rose  to  their  feet. 

"That  is  the  first  gong,  Iris,"  said  Ann;  "we  must  go 
in  to  clean  our  hands  and  have  our  hair  brushed.  Mamma 
woiild  be  very  angry  if  we  were  not  all  in  the  dining-room 
when  the  second  gong  sounds.  There  is  only  five  minutes 


112  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

between  the  two  gongs,  so  we  had  better  go  and  get  ready 
at  once/' 

Iris  was  quite  ready  to  accompany  her  cousins  into  the 
house.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  however,  she  missed 
Diana. 

"Where  is  Di  ?"  she  said.    "Apollo,  have  you  seen  her  ?" 

Apollo  was  coming  up  the  lawn;  Iris  ran  down  to  meet 
him. 

"Oh,  there's  Orion  with  Philip  and  Conrad,"  said  Iris, 
"but  where  can  Di  be?  I  thought  she  was  with  you, 
Apollo." 

"I  have  not  seen  her  for  the  greater  part  of  the  morn- 
ing," replied  Apollo.  "Have  you,  Orion?" 

"Not  I,"  answered  Orion,  giving  himself  a  little  shake. 
"I  say,  Phil,"  he  continued,  "is  it  true  that  you  can  take 
me  fishing  with  you  this  afternoon?" 

"Yes;  but  pray  don't  talk  so  loud.  I'll  take  you,  if 
you  won't  split  about  it." 

"What's  'split'?"  questioned  Orion. 

"Hush,  you  little  beggar !"  Philip  drew  Orion  to  one 
side  and  began  to  whisper  in  his  ear.  Orion's  face  got 
very  red. 

"Oh!"  he  said.  "Well,  I  won't  tell.  What  are  you 
talking  about,  Iris?" 

"I  want  to  find  Diana,"  said  Iris. 

"I  have  not  seen  her,"  said  Orion.  "I  wish  you  would 
not  bother  me,  Iris.  I  am  talking  to  Philip.  Phil  and  I 
has  got  some  secrets.  Very  well,  Phil;  we'll  walk  on  in 
front,  if  you  like." 

"Yee,  come  along,"  said  Philip;    "you  can  come,  too, 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  113 

Conrad.  Now,  Orion,  if  you  are  not  going  to  be  a  silly 

goose  and  a  tell-tale,  I'll "  Here  lie  dropped  his  voice 

to  a  whisper,  and  Orion  bent  an  attentive  ear. 

Iris,  in  some  bewilderment,  turned  to  her  girl  cousins. 

"I  must  find  Diana,"  she  said. 

"She  may  be  in  the  house/'  said  Ann.  "Perhaps  she 
has  gone  to  the  nurseries — perhaps  she  is  with  Simpson." 

The  whole  party  entered  the  house,  which  was  very  cool 
and  pleasant  in  contrast  to  the  hot  outside  world.  They 
met  Mr.  Dolman  striding  across  the  hall. 

"You  had  better  be  quick,  children,"  he  called  out. 
"Mamma  won't  be  pleased  unless  you  are  all  waiting  and 
ready  to  sit  down  to  table  when  the  second  gong  sounds." 

"Oh,  please,  Uncle  William !"  said  Iris,  "do  you  happen 
to  know  where  Diana  is  ?" 

"Little  Diana  with  the  spirited  black  eyes?"  questioned 
Mr.  Dolman. 

"Yes;   do  you  know  anything  about  her?" 

He  pushed  his  spectacles  halfway  up  on  his  broad, 
bald  forehead. 

"I  am  afraid  little  Diana  has  been  very  naughty,"  he 
said;  "but,  pray,  don't  say  that  I  mentioned  it.  You 
had  better  question  your  aunt,  my  dear.  No,  there  is 
no  use  asking  me.  I  vow,  once  for  all,  that  I  am  not 
going  to  interfere  with  you  children — particularly  with 
you  little  Delaneys.  I  only  know  that  Diana  has  been 
naughty.  Ask  your  aunt — ask  your  aunt,  my  dear." 

"Iris,  do  pray  come  upstairs,"  called  out  Mary;  "we'll 
get  into  the  most  dreadful  scrape  if  we  are  late.  Mamma 
is  so  terribly  particular." 


114  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Oh,  there  is  Aunt  Jane!"  said  Iris,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "Aunt  Jane,  please,"  she  continued,  running  up 
to  her  aunt  as  she  spoke,  "I  can't  find  Diana  anywhere. 
Do  you  happen  to  know  where  she  is?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  won't  find  Diana,  Iris,"  answered 
Mrs.  Dolman,  "for  the  simple  reason  that  she  has  been 
a  very  impertinent,  naughty  little  girl,  and  I  have  been 
obliged  to  lock  her  up." 

"You  were  obliged  to  lock  her  up?"  said  Iris,  her  face 
turning  pale.  She  gave  Mrs.  Dolman  a  look  which  re- 
minded that  lady  of  her  brother.  Now,  the  little  De- 
laneys'  father  could  give  very  piercing  glances  out  of  his 
dark  eyes  when  he  chose,  and  Mrs.  Dolman  had  been 
known,  in  her  early  days,  to  quail  before  them.  For  the 
same  inexplicable  reason  she  quailed  now  before  the  look 
in  Iris'  brown  eyes.  "Please  take  me  at  once  to  my  sister," 
said  the  little  girl,  with  dignity. 

Mrs.  Dolman  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"Very  well,  Iris,  on  this  occasion  I  will  take  you,"  she 
said.  "But  please  first  understand  that  you  four  children 
have  got  to  bend  your  wills  to  mine ;  and  when  you  are 
naughty, — although  I  don't  expect  you  will  ever  be 
naughty,  Iris — I  trust  you,  at  least,  will  be  an  example  to 
the  others, — but  when  any  of  you  are  naughty  you  will  be 
most  certainly  punished.  I  have  brought  you  here  with  the 
intention  of  disciplining  you  and  making  you  good  chil- 
dren." 

"Then,"  said  Iris,  very  slowly,  "do  you  really  think, 
Aunt  Jane,  that  when  mother  was  alive  we  were  bad 
children?" 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  115 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  on  that  point/'  answered  Mrs. 
Dolman.  She  led  Iris  across  the  cool  hall,  and,  taking  a 
key  out  of  her  pocket,  opened  the  door  of  the  punishment 
chamber.  She  threw  it  wide  open,  and  there,  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  matting,  lay  Diana,  curled  up  like  a  little  dog, 
very  sound  asleep." 

"Much  she  cares,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Jane!"  said  Iris,  tears  springing  to  her 
eyes,  "how  could  you  he  cruel  to  her,  and  she  is  not  long 
without  mother,  you  know — how  could  you  be  cruel  to  her, 
Aunt  Jane?" 

"You  are  not  to  dare  to  speak  to  me  in  that  tone, 
Iris,"  said  Aunt  Jane. 

But  at  that  moment  the  noise,  or  perhaps  it  was  the 
draught  of  fresh  air,  caused  Diana  to  stir  in  her  sleep. 
She  raised  her  head  and  looked  around  her.  The  first 
person  her  eyes  met  was  Iris. 

"So  you  has  come  at  last,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think 
much  of  you  for  a  mother.  You  made  a  lot  of  pwomises, 
and  that's  all  you  care.  Has  that  ugly  old  woman  been 
sent  to  pwison?  There's  my  darlin'  pets  gone  and  got 
deaded,  and  she  deaded  'em.  Has  she  been  put  in  pwison 
for  murder  ?  Oh,  there  you  is,  too,  old  Aunt  Jane !  Well, 
I  is  not  going  to  obey  you,  so  there!  Now  you  know  the 
twuf.  I  is  Diana,  the  gweat  Diana.  I  isn't  going  to 
obey  nobody !" 

"Iris,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "will  you  speak  to  this  ex- 
tremely naughty  little  girl?  If  she  will  not  repent  and 
beg  my  pardon  she  shall  have  no  dinner.  I  will  send  her 


116  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

in  some  bread  and  water,  and  here  she  shall  stay  until 
her  naughty  little  spirit  is  broken."  .  ,*» 

Mrs.  Dolman  left  the  room  as  she  spoke,  and  Iris  found 
herself  alone  with  her  sister. 

"You  isn't  much  of  a  mother,"  repeated  Diana.  She 
went  over  to  the  window,  and  stood  with  her  back  to 
Iris.  Her  little  bosom  was  heaving  up  and  down;  she 
felt  very  forlorn,  but  still  she  hugged  her  misery  to  her  as 
a  cloak. 

Iris  gazed  at  her  in  perplexity. 

"Di,"  she  said,  "I  never  saw  you  like  this  before.  What 
are  you  turning  away  from  me  for  ?  Come  to  me,  Di ;  do 
come  to  me." 

Diana's  little  breast  heaved  more  than  ever,  tears  came 
into  her  eyes,  but  she  blinked  them  furiously  away. 

"You  can  come  to  me,  if  you  want;  I  shan't  come  to 
you.  You  isn't  much  of  a  mother,"  she  repeated. 

"But  I  did  not  know  you  were  in  trouble,  darling.  Do, 
do  come  to  your  own  Iris.  Do  tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

"Oh,  Iris !"  sobbed  Diana. 

The  first  kind  note  utterly  melted  her  little  heart;  she 
rushed  to  her  sister,  flung  herself  upon  her,  and  sobbed 
as  if  she  would  never  stop  crying. 

"We  can't  stay  in  this  howid  place,  Iris,"  she  said ;  "all 
my  darlin's  has  gone  and  got  deaded.  That  howid  old 
woman  upstairs  said  they  was  wermin.  She  has  killed 
'em  all.  I  can't  stay  here;  I  won't  stay  here.  Take  me 
back  to  the  beautiful  garden.  Do,  Iris;  do.  I'se  just  so 
mis'ble." 

Iris  sat  down  on  one  of  the  hard-backed  chairs. 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  117 

"Look  here,  Di,"  she  said.  "I  have  no  time  now  to  talk 
things  over  with  you.  Of  course,  everything  is  altered, 
and  our  lives  are  completely  changed.  When  mother  was 
dying,  when  I  last  saw  her,  she  told  me  that  I  must  expect 
this.  She  said  she  knew  that,  when  she  went  away  to  the 
angels,  we  four  children  would  have  to  go  out  into  the 
world  and  fight  our  battles.  She  said  that  everybody  in 
the  world  has  got  a  battle  to  fight,  and  even  little  chil- 
dren have  to  fight  theirs.  She  said,  too,  that  if  we  were 
brave  and  the  kind  of  children  she  wants  us  to  be,  we 
would  follow  the  names  she  gave  us  and  conquer  our 
enemies.  Now,  Di,  you  are  called  after  Diana,  the  great 
Diana,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  goddess.  Do 
you  think  she  would  have  given  in?  Don't  you  think  she 
would  have  been  brave?" 

"Yes,  course,"  said  the  little  nineteenth-century  Diana. 
"She  would  have  shotted  people  down  dead  with  her  bow 
and  arrows — I  know  kite  well  she  was  a  bwave  sort  of  a 
lady.  All  wight,  Iris,  I'll  copy  her  if  you  wishes." 

"Indeed  I  do  wish,  darling.  I  think  it  would  be  splen- 
did of  you." 

"She  was  a  very  bwave  lady,"  repeated  Diana.  "She 
had  her  bow  and  her  arrows;  she  was  a  gweat  huntwess, 
and  she  shotted  people.  I  don't  mind  copying  her  one  lit- 
tle bit." 

Diana  dried  away  her  tears  and  looked  fixedly  at  het 
sister. 

"Then  you  really  mean  to  be  good  and  brave,  Di?" 

"Certain  sure,  Iris." 

"And  you  won't  call  Aunt  Jane  any  more  names?" 


118  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"I  won't  call  her  names — names  don't  si'nify,  names 
don't  kill  people." 

"And  you'll  go  and  beg  her  pardon  now?" 

"What's  that?" 

"You'll  say  you  are  sorry  that  you  called  her  names." 

"Would  she  let  me  out  of  this  woom,  then?  and  could 
I  do  just  what  I  liked  my  own  self?" 

"I  expect  so;  I  expect  she  is  really  sorry  that  she  had 
to  be  hard  on  you  to-day;  but  you  see  she  has  got  a  dif- 
ferent way  of  bringing  up  children  from  our  own  mother." 

"Please,  Iris,  we  won't  talk  much  of  our  own  mother — 
it  makes  me  lumpy  in  the  trof,"  said  Diana,  with  a  little 
gulp.  "I'll  beg  her  pardon,  if  it  phases  her.  I  don't  care 
— what's  words?  I'll  go  at  once,  and,  Iris,  mind  me  that 
I'm  like  Diana.  She  was  a  bwave  lady  and  she  shotted 
lots  of  people." 

"Well,  then,  come  along,  Di;  you'll  be  allowed  to  come 
to  dinner  if  you  beg  Aunt  Jane's  pardon." 

Di  gave  her  hand  to  Iris,  who  took  her  upstairs.  Here 
Iris  washed  her  little  sister's  face  and  hands  and  brushed 
out  her  thick  black  hair,  and  kissed  her  on  her  rosebud 
lips,  and  then  said: 

"There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do,  Di,  to  be  a  real  little 
mother  to  you." 

"All  wight,"  answered  Diana;  "you  just  'mind  me  now 
and  then  that  I  is  called  after  the  bwave  lady  what  lived 
long,  long  ago.  Is  that  the  second  gong?  I'se  desp'ate 
hungy.  Let's  wun  downstairs,  p'ease,  Iris." 

Diana  entered  the  dining-room  with  her  face  all  aglow 
with  smiles,  the  rich  color  back  again  in  her  cheeks,  and 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  119 

be<  black  eyes  dancing.  Even  Mr.  Dolman  gave  a  gasp  of 
relief  when  he  saw  her. 

Even  Mrs.  Dolman  felt  a  slight  degree  of  satisfaction. 
She  did  not  intend  to  be  hard  on  the  children — in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  was  quite  resolved  to  make  them  not 
only  good  but  also  happy. 

"Well,  my  dear  little  girl,"  she  said,  drawing  Diana  to 
her  side,  "and  so  you  are  sorry  for  what  you  said  ?" 

"Awfu'  sossy,"  answered  Diana,  in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"Then  you  beg  my  pardon,  and  you  won't  be  naughty 
again?" 

"I  begs  yous  pardon,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Diana.  She 
looked  very  attentively  up  and  down  her  relation's  figure 
as  she  spoke. 

"Poor  Aunt  Jane,  she's  awfu'  stout,"  murmured  Diana, 
under  her  breath.  "I  must  get  a  good  sharp  arrow — oh, 
yes !  words  is  nothing." 

Mrs.  Dolman  drew  out  a  chair  near  herself. 

"You  shall  sit  near  me,  Diana,  and  I  will  help  you  to 
your  dinner,"  she  said.  "I  hope  in  future  you  will  really 
try  to  be  a  very  good  little  girl." 

Diana  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  when  her  aunt  piled 
her  plate  with  nourishing  and  wholesome  food,  she  began 
to  eat  with  appetite.  Towards  the  end  of  the  meal  she 
bent  over  towards  Mrs.  Dolman,  and  said  in  a  confiding 
voice : 

"Has  you  got  woods  wound  here?" 

"Yes,  my  dear ;  there  are  some  nice  woods  about  a  mile 
away." 

"I'd  like  to  go  there  this  afternoon,  please,  Aunt  Jane. 


120  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

i  has  'portant  business  to  do  in  those  woods."  Diana 
looked  round  the  table  very  solemnly  as  she  said  these  last 
^ords.  Philip  could  not  help  laughing. 

"Hush,  Philip !  I  won't  have  Diana  laughed  at,"  said 
Mrs.  Dolman,  who  for  some  reason  was  now  inclined  to 
be  specially  kind  to  the  little  girl.  "If  you  would  really 
like  to  spend  the  afternoon  in  the  woods,  Diana,  I  see 
nothing  against  it,"  she  remarked.  "You  are  all  having  a 
holiday,  and  as  to-morrow  lessons  will  of  course  be  re- 
sumed, I  do  not  see  why  your  wish  should  not  be  gratified- 
Miss  Eamsay,  you  will  of  course  accompany  the  children, 
and,  Lucy,  my  dear,  you  can  have  the  pony  chaise,  if  you 
promise  to  be  very  careful.  You  can  take  turns  to  sit  in 
it,  children.  And  what  do  you  say  to  asking  cook  to  put 
up  a  few  bottles  of  milk  and  some  cake  and  bread  and 
butter — then  you  need  not  return  home  to  tea?" 

"That  would  be  delightful,  mamma,"  said  Lucy,  in  her 
prim  voice. 

"Thank  you,  mamma,"  said  Mary. 

"French,  my  dears ;   French !"  said  Miss  Eamsay. 

"As  it  is  a  holiday,  Miss  Eamsay,  the  children  are  al- 
lowed to  tender  their  thanks  to  me  in  the  English  tongue," 
said  Mrs.  Dolman. 

Miss  Eamsay  bowed  and  slightly  colored. 

"Is  you  going  with  us?"  asked  Diana,  fixing  her  dark 
eyes  full  upon  the  governess'  face. 

"Yes,  Diana;   your  aunt  wishes  it." 

"We  don't  want  no  g'own-ups." 

"Hush,  Diana !   you  must  not  begin  to  be  rude  again," 


The  Punishment  Chamber.  121 

said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "Miss  Kamsay  certainly  goes  with  you, 
please  understand." 

"I  tradeiiand — thank  you,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Diana. 

She  looked  solemnly  down  at  her  empty  plate.  Her 
whole  little  mind  was  full  of  her  namesake — the  great 
Diana  of  long  ago.  She  wondered  if  in  the  deep  shade 
of  the  woods  she  might  find  a  bow  strong  enough  to  injure 
her  enemies. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BOW  AND  ARBOW. 

Nothing  interfered  with  the  excursion  to  the  pleasant 
woods  near  Super-Ashton  Eectory.  The  children  all 
found  themselves  there  soon  after  four  o'clock  on  this 
lovely  summer  afternoon.  They  could  sit  under  the  shade 
of  the  beautiful  trees,  or  run  about  and  play  to  their 
hearts'  content. 

Miss  Eamsay  was  a  very  severe  governess  during  school 
hours,  but  when  there  was  a  holiday  she  was  as  lax  as  she 
was  particular  on  other  occasions.  This  afternoon  she 
took  a  novel  out  of  her  pocket,  seated  herself  with  her  back 
to  a  great  overspreading  elm  tree,  and  prepared  to  enjoy 
herself. 

Lucy,  Mary,  and  Ann  surrounded  Iris;  Apollo  marched 
away  by  himself,  and  Philip  and  Conrad  mysteriously  dis- 
appeared with  little  Orion.  Diana  thus  found  herself 
alone.  For  a  time  she  was  contented  to  lie  stretched  out 
flat  on  the  grass  playing  soldiers,  and  watching  the  tricks 
of  a  snow-white  rabbit  who  ran  in  and  out  of  his  hole 
close  by.  Presently,  however,  she  grew  tired  of  this  soli- 
tary entertainment,  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  looking  eagerly 
around  her. 

"Punishment  is  a  very  good  thing,"  she  said  to  herself. 
122 


Bow  and  Arrow.  123 

"I'se  punished,  and  I'se  lot  better.  It's  now  Aunt  Jane's 
turn  to  be  punished,  and  it's  Simpson's  turn  to  be  pun- 
ished— it'll  do  them  heaps  of  good.  First  time  I'se  only 
going  to  punish  'em — I  isn't  going  to  kill  'em  down  dead, 
but  I'se  going  to  pwick  'em.  I  is  Diana,  and  mother  said 
I  was  to  live  just  like  the  gweat  Diana  what  lived  long, 
long,  long  ago." 

Diana  began  to  trot  eagerly  up  and  down  under  the 
shade  of  the  tall  forest  trees.  She  looked  about  her  to 
right  and  left,  and  presently  was  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  a  pliant  bough  of  a  tree  which  was  lying  on  the 
ground.  Having  discovered  this  treasure,  she  sat  down 
contentedly  and  began  to  pull  off  the  leaves  and  to  strip 
the  bark.  When  she  had  got  the  long,  supple  bough  quite 
bare,  she  whipped  some  string  out  of  her  pocket,  and  con- 
verted it  into  the  semblance  of  a  bow.  It  was  certainly  by 
no  means  a  perfect  bow,  but  it  was  a  bow  after  a  fashion. 

The  bow  being  made,  the  arrow  must  now  be  secured. 
Diana  could  not  possibly  manage  an  arrow  without  a 
knife,  and  she  was  not  allowed  to  keep  a  knife  of  her 
own.  Both  bow  and  arrow  must  be  a  secret,  for  if  anyone 
saw  her  with  them  it  might  enter  into  the  head  of  that 
person  not  to  consider  it  quite  proper  for  her  to  punish 
Aunt  Jane. 

"And  Aunt  Jane  must  be  punished,"  muttered  Diana. 
"I  must  make  an  arrow,  and  I  must  pwick  her  with  it. 
My  bow  is  weally  beautiful — it  is  a  little  crooked,  but 
what  do  that  matter?  I  could  shoot  my  arrow  now  and 
pwick  the  twees,  if  only  I  could  get  one  made.  Oh,  here's 
a  darlin'  little  stick — it  would  make  a  lovely  arrow,  if  I 


124  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

had  a  knife  to  sharpen  the  point  with.  Now,  I  do  wonder 
what  sort  of  a  woman  that  Miss  Wamsay  is." 

Diana  fixed  her  coal-black  eyes  on  the  lady. 

"She  looks  sort  of  gentle  now  she's  weading,"  whispered 
the  little  girl  to  herself.  "She  looked  howid  this  morning 
in  the  schoolroom,  but  she  looks  sort  of  gentle  now.  I 
even  seed  her  smile  a  minute  back,  and  I  should  not  be  a 
bit  s'prised  if  she  didn't  hate  Aunt  Jane,  too.  I  know  what 
I'll  do;  I'll  just  go  and  ask  her — there  is  nothing  in  all  the 
world  like  being  plain-spoke.  If  Miss  Wamsay  hates 
Aunt  Jane,  why,  of  course,  she'll  help  me  to  sharpen  my 
arrow,  when  I  tell  her  it  is  to  give  Aunt  Jane  a  little 
pwick." 

Accordingly  Diana  approached  Miss  Ramsay's  side,  and, 
as  the  governess  did  not  look  up,  she  flung  herself  on  the 
grass  near  by,  uttering  a  deep  sigh  as  she  did  so.  But 
Miss  Ramsay  was  intent  on  her  book,  and  did  not  take 
the  least  notice  of  Diana's  deep-drawn  breath.  The  little 
girl  fidgeted,  and  tried  further  measures.  She  came  close 
up  to  the  governess,  and,  stretching  out  one  of  her  fat 
hands,  laid  it  on  one  of  Miss  Ramsay's. 

"Don't  touch  me,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady.  "You  are 
much  too  hot,  and  your  hand  is  very  dirty." 

"I's  sossy  for  that,"  said  Diana.  "I  had  to  touch  you 
'cos  you  wouldn't  look  up.  I  has  something  most  'portant 
to  talk  over." 

"Have  you,  indeed?"  replied  Miss  Ramsay.  She  closed 
her  book.  The  part  she  was  reading  was  not  specially 
interesting,  and  she  could  not  help  being  amused  with 


Bow  and  Arrow.  125 

such  a  very  curious  specimen  of  the  genus  child  as  Diana 
Delaney. 

"Well,  little  girl,  and  what  is  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  'spects,"  said  Diana,  looking  very  solemnly  into  her 
face,  "that  you  and  me,  we  has  both  got  the  same  ene- 
mies." 

"The  same  enemies !  My  dear  child,  what  do  you 
mean?"  asked  Miss  Eamsay. 

"I  'spects  I's  wight,"  said  Diana,  tossing  her  black  head. 
"I's  not  often  wrong.  I  wead  your  thoughts — I  think 
that  you  has  a  desp'ate  hate,  deep  down  in  your  heart,  to 
Aunt  Jane." 

"Good  gracious !"  cried  the  governess,  "what  does  the 
child  mean?  Why  should  I  hate  Mrs.  Dolman?" 

"But  why  should  not  you? — that's  the  point,"  said 
Diana. 

"Well,  I  don't,"  said  Miss  Eamsay. 

Diana  looked  intently  at  her.  Slowly  but  surely  her 
big  black  eyes  filled  with  tears;  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks ;  she  did  not  attempt  to  wipe  them  away. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  you  queer  little  crea- 
ture?" said  Miss  Ramsay.  "What  in  the  world  are  you 
crying  about?" 

"I  is  so  bitter  dis'pointed,"  repeated  Diana. 

"What,  because  I  don't  hate  your  Aunt  Jane?" 

"I  is  bitter  dis-pointed,"  repeated  Diana.  "I  thought, 
course,  you  hated  her,  'cos  I  saw  her  look  at  you  so  smart 
like,  and  order  you  to  be  k'ick  this  morning,  and  I  thought, 
'Miss  Wamsay  don't  like  that,  and  course  Miss  Wamsay 


126  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

hates  her,  and  if  Miss  Wamsay  hates  her,  well,  she'll  help 
me,  'cos  I  hates  her  awful/  " 

"But  do  you  know  that  all  this  is  very  wrong?"  said 
Miss  Ramsay. 

"Wong  don't  matter,"  answered  Diana,  sweeping  her 
hand  in  a  certain  direction,  as  if  she  were  pushing  wrong 
quite  out  of  sight.  "I  hate  her,  and  I  want  to  punish 
her.  You  ought  to  hate  her,  'cos  she  told  you  to  be  k'ick, 
and  she  looked  at  you  with  a  kind  of  a  fwown.  Won't 
you  twy  and  begin?  Do,  p'ease." 

"I  really  never  heard  anything  like  this  before  in  the 
whole  course  of  my  life/'  said  Miss  Kamsay.  "Mrs.  Dol- 
man did  warn  me  to  be  prepared  for  much,  but  I  never 
heard  a  Christian  child  speak  in  the  way  you  are  doing." 

"I  isn't  a  Chwistian  child,"  said  Diana.  'I  is  a 
heathen.  Did  you  never  hear  of  Diana  what  lived  long, 
long  ago? — the  beautiful,  bwave  lady  that  shotted  peoples 
whenever  she  p'eased  with  her  bow  and  arrows?" 

"Do  you  mean  the  heathen  goddess?"  said  Miss  Earn- 
say. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  her,  but  I  is  named  after 
her,  and  I  mean  to  be  like  her.  My  beautiful  mother  said 
I  was  to  be  like  her,  and  I'm  going  to  twy.  See,  now, 
here  is  the  bow" — she  held  up  the  crooked  bow  as  she 
spoke — "and  I  only  want  the  arrow.  Will  you  help  me  to 
make  the  arrow?  I  thought — oh,  I  did  think — that  if 
you  hated  Aunt  Jane  you  would  help  me  to  make  the 
arrow.  Here's  the  stick,  and  if  you  have  a  knife  in  your 
pocket  you  can  just  sharpen  it,  and  it  will  make  the  most 
perfect  arrow  in  all  the  world.  I'll  love  you  then.  I'll 


Bow  and  Arrow.  127 

help  you  always.  I'll  do  my  lessons  if  you  ask  me,  and 
I'll  twy  to  be  good  to  you;  'cos  you  and  me  we'll  both 
have  our  enemies,  and  p'w'aps,  if  I'm  nci  siwong  enough 
to  use  the  bow,  p'w'aps  you  could  use  it,  and  we  might 
go  about  together  and  sting  our  enemies,  and  be  weal 
fwiends.  Will  you  twy?  Will  you  make  me  the  little 
arrow,  p'ease,  p'ease?" 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  arrow  when 
it  is  made?"  asked  Miss  Ramsay.  "I  happen,"  she  con- 
tinued, without  waiting  for  Diana's  reply,  "to  have  a 
knife  in  my  pocket,  and  I  don't  mind  sharpening  that 
piece  of  wood  for  you.  But  bows  and  arrows  are  danger- 
ous weapons  for  little  girls  like  you." 

"Course  they  is  dangerous,"  said  Diana.  "What  would 
be  the  use  of  'em,  if  they  wasn't?  They  is  to  pwick  our 
enemies  and  p'w'aps  kill  'em." 

"But  look  here,  Diana,  what  do  you  want  this  special 
bow  and  arrow  for?" 

"I  want  to  have  Aunt  Jane  Dolman  and  Simpson 
shotted.  I'll  tell  you  why  I  want  'em  both  to  be  shotted 
— 'cos  Simpson  killed  my  spiders  and  beetles,  and  Aunt 
Jane  Dolman  is  a  poky  old  thing  and  she  shut  me  up  in 
a  punishment  woom.  Now  wouldn't  you  like  to  help  me 
— and  then  we'll  both  have  deaded  our  enemies,  and  we'll 
be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long." 

Miss  Eamsay  was  so  astounded  at  Diana's  remarks  that 
she  slowly  rose  from  her  seat  and  stared  for  nearly  half  a 
minute  at  the  little  girl. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  have  seen  in  my  lifetime 
all  sorts  of  children.  I  have  taught  little  girls  and  boys 


128  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

since  I  was  eighteen  years  of  age.  I  have  seen  good  chil- 
dren and  naughty  children,  and  clever  children,  and  stupid 
children,  but  I  have  never  met  anyone  like  you,  little 
Diana  Delaney.  Do  you  really  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing? Do  you  know  that  you  are  a  very,  very  wicked  little 
girl?" 

"Are  I?"  said  Diana.  "Well,  then,  I  like  being  a 
wicked  little  girl.  I  thought  p'w'aps  you  would  help 
me;  but  it  don't  matter,  not  one  bit." 

Before  Miss  Ramsay  could  say  another  word  Diana  had 
turned  abruptly  and  flown,  as  if  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind,  right  down  through  the  wood. 

The  governess  watched  the  little  figure  disappearing 
between  the  oaks  and  elms  until  at  last  it  quite  vanished 
from  view.  She  felt  a  momentary  inclination  to  go  after 
the  child,  but  her  book  was  interesting,  and  her  seat  under 
the  overhanging  elm  extremely  comfortable.  And  this 
was  a  holiday,  and  she  worked  hard  enough,  poor  thing, 
on  working  days.  And,  after  all,  Diana  was  nothing  but 
a  silly  little  child,  and  didn't  mean  half  she  said. 

"It  would  be  folly  to  take  the  least  notice  of  her  re- 
marks," thought  the  governess.  "I'll  just  go  on  treating 
her  like  the  others.  I  expect  I  shall  have  a  good  deal  of 
work  breaking  in  that  interesting  little  quartette,  for, 
after  all,  if  my  salary  is  to  be  raised,  I  may  as  well  stay 
at  the  Rectory  as  anywhere  else.  The  house  is  comfortable, 
and  I  have  got  used  to  Mrs.  Dolman's  queer  ways  by  this 
time." 

Accordingly  Miss  Ramsay  reseated  herself,  and  again 
took  up  her  novel.  She  turned  the  leaves,  and  soon  got 


Bow  and  Arrow.  129 

into  a  most  interesting  part  of  the  volume.  Lost  in  the 
sorrows  of  her  hero  and  heroine,  she  forgot  all  about  Diana 
Delaney  and  her  bow  and  arrow. 

Meanwhile  Diana,  walking  rapidly  away  by  herself,  was 
reflecting  hard. 

"Miss  Wamsay's  a  poor  sort,"  she  thought.  "I  aren't 
going  to  twouble  'bout  anyone  like  her,  but  I  must  get 
that  arrow  made.  The  bow  is  beautiful,  but  I  can't  do 
nothing  'cos  I  hasn't  got  an  arrow." 

At  this  moment,  to  her  great  delight,  she  saw  Apollo 
coming  to  meet  her. 

"There  you  is !"  she  shouted. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  asked  Apollo. 

"Look  at  my  bow,  'Polio !  Aren't  it  beautiful  ?  Aren't 
I  just  like  the  weal  Diana  now  ?" 

"Did  you  make  this  bow  all  by  yourself?"  asked  Apollo. 

"Yes;  why  shouldn't  I?" 

"Well,  it's  awfully  crooked." 

"Is  it  ?"  said  Diana ;  "I  thought  it  was  beautiful.  Can 
you  stwaighten  it  for  me  a  little  bit,  'Polio?" 

"I  think  I  can  make  you  a  better  bow  than  this,"  an- 
swered Apollo. 

"Oh,  can  you?  What  a  darlib'  you  is!  And  will  you 
cut  an  arrow  for  me,  and  will  you  make  it  very  sharp? 
Will  you  make  it  awfu'  sharp?  The  kind  that  would 
pwick  deep,  you  know,  that  would  cut  into  things  and  be 
like  the  arrow  that  the  gweat  Diana  used." 

Apollo  was  finding  his  afternoon  somewhat  dull.  He 
had  made  no  friends  as  yet  with  the  little  Dolman  chil- 
Orion  had  disappeared  with  both  the  boys;  Iris 


130  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

was  with  Ann,  Lucy,  and  Mary;  he  had  been  thrown  for 
the  last  hour  completely  on  his  own  resources.  The  sight, 
therefore,  of  Diana,  with  her  flushed  face  and  bright  eyes 
and  spirited  manner,  quite  cheered  the  little  fellow.  He 
and  Diana  had  often  been  chums,  and  he  thought  it  would 
be  rather  nice  to  be  chummy  with  his  little  sister  to-day." 

"I  may  as  well  help  you,"  he  said,  "but,  of  course,  Di, 
you  can't  expect  me  to  do  this  sort  of  thing  often.  I  shall 
most  likely  be  very  soon  going  to  school,  and  then  I'll  be 
with  fellows,  you  know." 

"What's  fellows?"  asked  Diana. 

"Oh,  boys!  Of  course,  when  I  get  with  boys,  you  can't 
expect  me  to  be  much  with  you." 

"All  wight,"  answered  Diana.  "I  hope  you  won't  get 
with  no  fellows  this  afternoon,  'cos  you  is  useful  to  me. 
Just  sit  down  where  you  is,  and  help  me  to  make  a  bow 
and  arrow." 

Apollo  instantly  seated  himself  on  the  grass,  and  Diana 
threw  herself  on  her  face  and  hands  by  his  side.  She 
raised  herself  on  her  elbows  and  fixed  her  bright  black 
eyes  on  her  brother's  face.  She  stared  very  hard  at  him, 
and  he  stared  back  at  her. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "isn't  you  going  to  begin?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied ;  "but  what  do  you  want  the  bow  and 
arrow  for?" 

"To  get  my  enemies  shotted." 

"Your  enemies?  What  folly  this  is,  Di.  You  have  not 
got  any  enemies." 

"Haven't  I :  I  know  better.  I  won't  talk  to  you  about  it, 
'Polio." 


Bow  and  Arrow.  131 

"All  right,"  replied  Apollo;  "you  must  tell  me,  or  I 
won't  help  you." 

"There,  now !"  said  Diana,  "you's  got  a  howid  f wown 
between  your  bwows.  I  don't  like  it;  you's  going  to  be 
obs'nate.  I  don't  like  cbs'nate  boys." 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  replied  Apollo.  "I  know  you  of 
old,  you  monkey.  You  are  up  to  mischief,  and  I  insist 
upon  hearing  all  about  it." 

Diana  gazed  at  him  solemnly. 

"Does  you  like  Aunt  Jane?"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  replied  Apollo. 

"Does  you  like  that  old  thing  in  the  nursery — Simp- 
son, they  calls  her?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  replied  the  boy  again. 

"They  is  sort  of  enemies  of  yours,  isn't  they?"  asked 
Diana. 

"Oh!  I  don't  know  that  I  go  as  far  as  that,"  replied 
Apollo. 

"But  if  Aunt  Jane  makes  you  do  howid  lessons  all 
day,  and  if  Simpson  is  always  fussing  you  and  getting 
you  to  wash  your  face  and  hands,  and  if  you  can't  never 
go  with  fellows,  and  if  you  is  kept  in — and  if — and  if " 

"Oh !  don't  begin  all  that,  Di,"  said  Apollo.  "Where  is 
the  use  of  making  the  worst  of  things?" 

"Well,  I  want  to  make  the  best  of  things,"  said  Diana. 
"I  want  to  have  our  enemies  shotted  wight  off." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Apollo,  laughing,  "that 
you  wish  to  shoot  Aunt  Jane  and  that  old  woman  in  the 
nursery  ?" 

"I  wish  to  pwick  'em  first  time,  and  then,  if  they  ia 
naughty  again,  to  have  'em  shotted  down  dead.  Why  not? 


132  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Mother,  who  is  up  the  heavens,  called  me  alter  gweat 
Diana,  and  Diana  always  shotted  her  enemies." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  Di!  I  think  you  are  the  queerest  little 
thing  in  the  world,"  said  Apollo.  "But  now,  look  here," 
he  added,  "I  am  older  than  you,  and  I  know  that  what 
you  are  thinking  about  is  very  wrong.  I  can't  make  you 
a  bow  and  arrow  to  do  that  sort  of  thing." 

Diana  looked  bitterly  disappointed.  She  could  master, 
or  she  fancied  she  could  master,  Aunt  Jane,  Simpson,  and 
Miss  Bameay,  but  she  knew  well,  from  past  experience, 
that  she  could  not  master  Apollo. 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?"  she  said.  She  thought  for  a  long 
time.  "Would  not  you  like  a  bow  and  arrow  just  all  your 
own,  to  shoot  at  the  twees  with?"  she  asked  at  last,  art- 
fully. 

"Oh,  I  have  no  objection  to  that!"  answered  Apollo. 
"It  seems  right  that  I  should  have  one;  does  it  not,  Di? 
But  of  course  I  would  never  do  any  mischief  with  it. 
Why,  little  thing,  you  have  been  talking  the  most  awful 
rot." 

"Well,  you  can  make  a  bow  and  arrow  for  four  very 
own  self,"  said  Diana. 

"I  don't  eee  why  I  shouldn't,  but  you'll  hare  to  prom- 

"Oh,  I  won't  make  pwomises !"  said  Diana.  "Why 
should  I  make  pwomises  about  your  bow  and  arrows?  I'M 
help  you  to  make  'em.  Do  let  me,  Apollo !" 

Apollo  seemed  suddenly  smitten  with  the  idea.  After 
all,  it  would  be  fine  to  make  a  bow  and  arrow,  and  to  try 
to  shoot  things  in  the  wood.  How  lovely  it  would  be  if 


Bow  and  Arrow.  133 

he  succeeded  in  shooting  a  rabbit!  He  'would  certainly 
have  a  try.  Accordingly,  he  rose  and  climbed  into  the 
lower  branches  of  an  elm  tree,  and  cut  down  a  long, 
smooth  young  bough,  and,  descending  again  to  the  ground, 
began  to  peel  the  bark  off.  When  this  was  done,  Diana 
produced  some  more  string  out  of  her  pocket,  and  a  very 
creditable  bow  was  the  result. 

"Now,  the  arrow,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"We  must  get  some  strong  wood  for  that,"  said  Apollo, 
"something  that  won't  split.  I'll  just  walk  about  and 
look  around  me."  He  did  so,  and  soon  found  a  stick 
suitable  for  his  purpose.  He  sat  down  again  and  began 
whittling  away.  Very  soon  a  fairly  sharp  arrow  was 
the  result  "Of  course  it  ought  to  be  tipped,"  said 
Apollo,  "but  we  have  nothing  to  tip  it  with.  It  is  lucky 
that  the  wood  is  hard,  and  so  it  is  really  sharp.  Now, 
shall  I  have  a  few  shots  with  it?" 

"Please  do,  Apollo.  Oh,  how  'licious  it  all  fe !  Don't 
you  feel  just  as  if  you  was  a  heathen  god  ?' 

"I  wish  I  were,"  said  Apollo,  throwing  back  his  head. 
"Oh,  Di,  how  hot  it  is  in  the  wood!  What  wouldn't  I 
give  to  be  back  in  the  dear  old  garden  again  ?" 

"Maybe  we'll  go  soon,"  said  Diana;   "maybe  they  won't 

want  to  keep  us  if "    But  here  she  shut  up  her  little 

mouth  firmly. 

Apollo  was  too  much  excited  about  the  bow  and  arrow 
practice  shooting. 
to  think  of  Diana's  remarks.     He  stood  up  and  began  to 

"You  is  doing  it  beautiful,"  said  Diana,  applauding  his 
extremely  poor  efforts.  "Now,  twy  again.  Think  that 


134  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

you  has  lived  long,  long  ago,  and  that  you  is  shotting 
things  for  our  dinner." 

The  arrow  went  wide  of  the  mark,  the  arrow  went  every- 
where but  where  it  ought  to.  Diana  clapped  and  laughed 
and  shouted,  and  Apollo  thought  himself  the  finest  archer 
in  the  world. 

"Now,  let  me  have  a  teeny  turn,"  she  said. 

"To  be  sure  I  will,"  he  replied  good-naturedly.  He 
showed  her  how  to  place  the  arrow,  and  she  made  one  or 
two  valiant  attempts  to  send  it  flying  through  the  wood. 

"It  is  hard,"  she  panted;  "the  arrow  don't  seem  even 
to  make  the  least  little  pwick.  Now,  I  want  to  shoot 
stwaight  at  that  oak  twee,  or  would  you  mind  awfu', 
Apollo,  if  I  was  to  shoot  at  you  ?" 

"All  right,"  replied  Apollo ;  "you  may  aim  at  my  hand, 
if  you  like."  He  walked  about  a  dozen  yards  away  and 
held  up  his  hand. 

Diana  made  valiant  efforts,  and  grew  crimson  iu  the' 
face,  but  the  arrow  still  went  wide  of  the  mark. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 
JOG'APHY. 

The  next  day  lessons  began  with  a  vengeance.  It  was 
one  thing  for  the  four  Delaney  children  to  work  with  Miss 
Stevenson  at  the  old  Manor  House.  Lessons  in  mother's 
time  were  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise;  as  often  as 
not  they  were  conducted  in  the  garden,  and  when  the 
day  happened  to  be  very  hot,  and  the  little  people  some- 
what impatient  of  restraint,  Miss  Stevenson  gave  them  a 
certain  amount  of  liberty;  but  lessons  at  the  Rectory  were 
an  altogether  different  matter.  Miss  Ramsay,  when  she 
awoke  the  next  day,  had  seemed  emphatically  to  have  put 
on  all  her  armor.  During  the  holiday,  neither  Orion  nor 
Diana,  neither  Apollo  nor  Iris,  thought  Miss  Ramsay  of 
any  special  account.  They  stared  a  good  deal  at  Uncle 
Dolman,  and  they  watched  Aunt  Jane  with  anxious  eyes, 
but  Miss  Ramsay  did  not  matter,  one  way  or  the  other. 
The  next  day,  however,  they  came  to  have  a  totally  differ- 
ent opinion  with  regard  to  her. 

At  breakfast,  on  the  following  morning,  whenever  Diana 
opened  her  rosebud  lips,  she  was  told  that  she  must  not 
speak  unless  she  could  do  so  in  the  French  tongue.  Now, 
all  that  Diana  could  manage  to  say  in  French  was  "Oui" 
and  "Non,"  nor  was  she  very  certain  when  to  say  either 
of  these  very  simple  words.  She  hated  being  silent,  for 
she  was  a  very  talkative,  cheery  little  body,  except  when 
she  was  angry.  Accordingly,  the  meal  was  a  depressing 
one,  and  Diana  began  to  yawn  and  to  look  wearily  out  on 
the  sun-shiny  garden  before  it  was  half-finished.  But,  of 
course,  there  was  no  play  in  the  garden  for  any  of  the 
135 


136  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

children  that  morning.  Immediately  after  breakfast  they 
all  went  up  to  the  schoolroom.  Now,  the  schoolroom  was 
a  very  pleasant  room,  nicely  and  suitably  furnished,  but  in 
summer  it  was  hot,  and  on  very  sun-shiny  days  it  was 
painfully  hot;  its  single  large  bay  window  faced  due 
south,  and  the  sun  poured  in  relentlessly  all  during  the 
hours  of  morning  school.  Miss  Eamsay,  seated  at  the  head 
of  the  baize-covered  table  with  her  spectacles  on,  looked 
decidedly  formidable,  and  each  of  the  children  gazed  at 
their  governess  with  anxious  eyes.  Mary  and  Lucy  were 
always  good  little  girls,  but  Philip  and  Conrad  were  as 
idle  as  boys  could  possibly  be,  and  did  their  utmost  to 
evade  Miss  Bamsay's  endeavors  to  instill  learning  into 
their  small  heads.  Orion  sat  between  his  two  little  boy 
cousins,  but  for  some  reason  or  other  Orion  did  not  look 
well  that  morning.  His  little  face,  not  unlike  Diana's  in 
appearance,  was  bloated,  his  eyes  were  heavy,  he  had 
scarcely  touched  his  breakfast,  and  he  earnestly,  most 
earnestly  longed  to  get  out  of  the  hot  schoolroom. 

Miss  Kamsay,  when  all  the  little  people  were  seated 
round  her,  knocked  sharply  on  the  table  with  her  ruler, 
and  proceeded  to  make  a  speech.  "My  dear  old  pupils," 
she  said,  looking  at  the  five  little  Dolmans  as  she  spoke, 
"on  account  of  your  cousins,  who,  I  fear,  are  ignorant 
little  children,  I  mean  on  this  occasion  to  speak  to  you  in 
the  English  tongue.  I  have  now  got  nine  pupils  to  in- 
struct, and  nine  pupils  are  a  great  many  for  one  person 
to  teach.  Your  mother,  however,  has  promised  that  the 
master  from  the  village  shall  come  up  to  instruct  you  all 
:c  arithmetic,  and  your  French  master  and  your  music 


Jog'aphy.  137 

master  will,  of  course,  attend  here  as  usual.  I  trust, 
therefore,  that  by  more  attention  on  the  part  of  my  pupils 
I  may  be  able  to  continue  the  heavy  task  which  I  have 
undertaken.  What  I  want  to  impress  upon  you  chil- 
dren"— here  she  turned  abruptly  to  the  little  Delaneys — 
"is  that  lessons  are  lessons,  and  play  is  play.  During 
lesson-time  I  allow  no  wandering  thoughts,  I  allow  no 
attempts  at  shirking  your  duties.  The  tasks  I  set  you  will 
be  carefully  chosen  according  to  your  different  abilities, 
and  I  can  assure  you  beforehand  that  learned  they  must 
be.  If  I  find  that  they  are  not  carefully  prepared,  I  shall 
punish  you.  By  being  attentive,  by  making  the  best  of 
your  time,  you  can  easily  get  through  the  lessons  appointed 
you,  and  then  when  they  are  over  I  hope  you  will  thor- 
oughly enjoy  your  time  of  play.  Now,  all  of  you  sit 
quiet.  We  will  begin  with  a  lesson  from  English  history." 
Miss  Eamsay  then  began  to  lecture  in  her  usual  style. 
She  was  really  an  excellent  teacher,  and  Iris  found  what 
she  said  very  interesting.  She  began  to  tell  about  the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  she  made  that  time  quite 
live  to  the  intelligent  little  girl.  But  Apollo  had  not  nearly 
come  to  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  in  his  English  history.  He, 
consequently,  could  not  follow  the  story,  and  soon  began 
to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  to  count  the  flies  which 
were  buzzing  in  the  hot  sunshine  on  the  window-panes. 
When  Misa  Eamsay  addressed  a  sudden  question  to  him 
he  was  unable  to  reply.  She  passed  it  on  to  Ann,  who 
instantly  gave  the  correct  answer.  But  Apollo  felt  himself 
to  be  in  hia  governess'  black  books.  As  this  was  the  first 
morning  of  lessons,  she  was  not  going  to  be  serere,  and, 


138  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

telling  the  little  boy  to  take  his  history  away  to  another 
table,  desired  him  to  read  it  all  carefully  through. 

"I  will  question  you  to-morrow  about  what  I  told  you 
to-day,"  she  said.  "Now,  remember,  you  must  tell  me  the 
whole  story  of  the  Spanish  Armada  to-morrow." 

"But  I  have  not  gone  farther  than  the  reign  of  John," 
said  Apollo. 

"Don't  answer  me,  Apollo/'  said  Miss  Ramsay;  "you 
are  to  read  this  part  of  your  history  book.  Now,  sit  with 
your  back  to  the  others  and  begin." 

Apollo  shrugged  his  shoulders.  For  a  short  time  he 
made  an  effort  to  read  his  dull  history,  but  then  once 
again  his  eyes  sought  the  sunshine  and  the  flies  on  the 
window  panes. 

Meanwhile  Diana,  Orion,  and  the  two  little  Dolman 
boys  were  in  a  class  by  themselves,  busily  engaged  over 
a  geography  lesson. 

Diana  had  not  the  smallest  wish  to  become  acquainted 
with  any  portion  of  the  globe  where  she  was  not  herself 
residing.  Her  thoughts  were  all  full  of  the  bow  and  arrow 
which  Apollo  had  carefully  hidden  in  a  little  dell  at  the 
entrance  of  the  wood,  on  the  previous  night.  She  was 
wondering  when  she  could  run  off  to  secure  the  prize,  and 
when  she  would  have  an  opportunity  of  punishing  her 
enemies.  She  began  to  think  that  it  would  be  really  nec- 
essary to  give  Miss  Ramsay  a  prick  with  the  fatal  arrow. 
Miss  Ramsay  was  turning  out  to  be  most  disagreeable. 

Meanwhile,  the  heat  of  the  room,  and  a  curious  giddy 
sensation  in  her  head,  caused  it  to  sink  lower  and  lower, 


Jog'aphy.  139 

until  it  finally  rested  on  her  book,  and  little  Diana  was 
off  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

A  sharp  tap  on  her  shoulders  roused  her  with  a  start. 
Miss  Eamsay  was  standing  over  her,  looking  very  angry. 

"Come,  Diana!  this  will  never  do,"  she  cried.  "How 
dare  you  go  to  sleep !  Do  you  know  your  geography  ?" 

"P'ease,  I  doesn't  know  what  jog-aphy  is,"  said  Diana. 

"What  a  very  naughty  little  girl  you  are !  Have  not  I 
been  taking  pains  to  explain  it  all  to  you  ?  You  will  have 
to  stay  in  the  schoolroom  when  lessons  are  over  for  quite 
five  minutes.  Now,  stand  up  on  your  chair,  hold  your 
book  in  your  hands,  don't  look  out  of  the  window,  keep 
your  eyes  fixed  on  your  book,  and  then  you  will  soon  learn 
what  is  required  of  you." 

Diana  obeyed  this  mandate  with  a  very  grave  face. 

In  about  ten  minutes  Miss  Eamsay  called  her  to  her 
side. 

"Well,  do  you  know  your  lesson?"  she  asked. 

"Kite  perfect,"  replied  Diana. 

"Well,  let  me  hear  you.  What  is  the  capital  of  Eng- 
land?" 

"Dublin  Bay,"  replied  Diana,  with  avidity. 

"You  are  a  very  naughty  child.  How  can  you  tell  me 
you  know  your  lesson  ?  See,  I  will  ask  you  one  more  ques- 
tion. What  is  the  capital  of  Scotland  ?" 

"Ireland,"  answered  Diana,  in  an  earnest  voice. 

Miss  Eamsay  shut  the  book  with  a  bang.  Diana  looked 
calmly  at  her. 

"I  thought  I  knew  it,"  she  said.  "I's  sossy.  I  don't 
think  I  care  to  go  on  learning  jog-aphy ;  it  don't  suit  me." 


140  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

She  stretched  herself,  gave  utterance  to  a  big  jawn,  and 
half  turned  her  back  on  her  teacher.  "You  is  getting  in 
temper/'  she  continued,  "and  that  isn't  wight;  I  don't 
care  to  learn  jog-aphy." 

What  serious  consequences  might  not  hare  arisen  at 
that  moment  it  is  hard  to  tell,  had  not  Orion  caused  a 
sudden  diversion.  He  fell  off  his  chair  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor. 

Iris  sprang  from  her  seat  and  ran  to  the  rescue. 

"I'm  drefful  sick,"  said  Orion;  "I  think  it  was  the 
lollipope  and  ginger-beer.  Please  let  me  go  to  bed." 

"Lollipops  and  ginger-beer!"  cried  Miss  Ramsay,  in 
alarm.  "What  does  the  child  mean  ?" 


CHAPTER  XII. 
A  BABY'S  HONOB. 

When  Miss  Ramsay  repeated  Orion's  words  there  was  a 
dead  silence  for  a  full  half  minute  in  the  8choolroom. 
Had  anyone  noticed  them,  they  might  hare  observed 
Philip  and  Conrad  turn  very  pale;  but  all  eyes  were 
directed  to  little  Orion,  who  -was  lying  on  the  floor,  press- 
ing his  hand  to  his  stomach  and  moaning  bitterly. 

"I'm  drefful  sick,"  he  said;  "I  wish  I  had  not  taken 
that  horrid  ginger-beer." 

"But  where  did  you  get  ginger-beer?"  said  Miss  Ram- 
say, finding  her  voice  at  last.  "Get  up  this  minute,  Orion, 
and  come  to  me." 

"Really,"  continued  the  good  lady  to  herself,  "there 
must  be  something  uncanny  in  those  outlandish  names; 
I  don't  think  I  can  manage  these  children.  Orion  is  as 
bad  as  Diana,  and  she  is  the  greatest  handful  I  erer  came 
across. 

"Come  here,  Orion,"  continued  the  governess,  "and  tell 
me  what  IB  the  matter  with  your  stomach." 

"Pain,"  answered  the  little  boy,  "crampy  pain.  It's 
the  ginger-beer.  I'm  drefful  sick;  I  can't  do  no  more 
lessons." 

"Let  me  put  him  to  bed,"  said  Diana ;  "let  me  go  nurse 
141 


142  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

him.  I'll  sit  on  his  bed  and  talk  to  him.  He  is  a  very 
naughty  boy,  but  I  know  how  to  manage  him.  Come  'long, 
Orion;  come  'long  wid  sister  Di."  She  grasped  the  little 
boy  firmly  with  one  of  her  own  stout  little  hands,  and 
pulled  him  up  on  to  his  feet. 

"Diana,  you  are  not  to  interfere,"  said  Miss  Kamsay. 
"Come,  Orion;  come  and  explain  what  is  the  matter." 

"Lollipops,"  moaned  Orion,  "and  ginger-beer.  Oh,  I 
did  like  the  lollipops,  and  I  was  so  thirsty  I  thought  I'd 
never  leave  off  drinking  ginger-beer." 

"But  where  did  you  get  lollipops  and  ginger-beer  ?  Mrs. 
Dolman  never  allows  the  children  to  take  such  unwhole- 
some things.  What  can  you  mean?  Where  did  you  get 
them?" 

To  this  question  Orion  refused  to  make  any  reply. 
Baby  as  he  was,  he  had  a  confused  sort  of  idea  of  honor. 
Philip  and  Conrad  had  told  him  that  he  was  on  no  account 
whatever  to  mention  the  fact  that  they  had  gone  away  fish- 
ing on  the  previous  afternoon,  that  they  had  visited  a  little 
shop  and  spent  some  of  Orion's  own  money.  Philip  and 
Conrad  had  no  money  of  their  own,  but  before  he  parted 
with  the  children,  Mr.  Delaney  had  given  the  two  elder 
ones  five  shillings  apiece,  and  the  two  younger  ones  half  a 
crown,  and  Orion's  half-crown  had  seemed  great  wealth 
to  Philip  and  Conrad,  and  had  accordingly  induced  them 
to  treat  the  little  fellow  with  marked  consideration.  The 
whole  of  the  money  was  now  gone.  How,  Orion  had  not 
the  slightest  idea.  He  only  knew  that  his  pockets  were 
empty  and  that  he  felt  very  sick  and  very  miserable. 

He  shut  up  his  little  lips  now  and  raised  his  eyes,  with 


A  Baby's  Honor.  143 

a  sort  of  scowl  in  their  expression,  to  Miss  Eamsay's  face. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  lollipops  and  ginger-beer?"  re- 
peated the  governess. 

"That's  my  own  business/'  said  Orion.  "I'm  drefful 
sick;  I  want  to  go  to  bed." 

"You  are  a  very  naughty  little  boy,"  said  Miss  Eamsay. 

"I  think  him  a  brick,"  whispered  Philip  to  Conrad. 

"Hush,  for  goodness'  sake !"  whispered  back  Conrad. 

"I  want  to  go  to  bed,"  repeated  Orion.  "I'm  drefful 
sick ;  I'm  quite  tired  of  telling  you.  I  have  got  a  headache 
and  a  pain  in  my  tumtum."  Again  he  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  stomach  and  looked  imploringly  around  him. 

"What's  all  this  fuss?"  here  burst  from  Diana.  "Why 
can't  Orion  go  to  bed  ?  New  teacher,  you  has  a  very  queer 
way  of  managing  sildrens.  When  we  was  at  home  we  went 
to  bed  when  we  had  pains.  I  can't  underland  you,  not  one 
little  bit." 

"Come  with  me  this  moment,  Orion,"  said  Miss  Eam- 
say. "'Diana,  if  you  speak  a  word  except  in  the  French 
tongue,  you  shall  be  kept  in  during  all  the  afternoon." 

Orion  and  Miss  Eamsay  left  the  room,  and  the  other 
children  stared  at  one  another.  The  three  Dolman  girls 
sat  down  to  their  books.  Philip  and  Conrad  thought  it 
best  to  follow  their  example.  Iris  and  Apollo  looked  wist- 
fully from  one  to  the  other,  but  did  not  dare  to  speak ;  but 
Diana,  walking  boldly  over  to  the  nearest  window,  amused 
herself  by  touching  each  fly  in  turn  with  the  tip  of  her 
small  fat  finger. 

"They  don't  like  it,  poor  darlin's,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"but  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  'em.  I  wonder  now  if  I  could 


144  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

get  away  to  the  wood  and  get  hold  of  my  bow  and  arrow. 
Miss  Wamsay  must  be  shotted  as  well  as  the  others.  It's 
awful  what  I  has  got  to  do." 

Apollo  sat  dejectedly  down  before  the  account  of  the 
Spanish  Armada,  and  Iris,  with  tears  slowly  rising  to  her 
eyes,  turned  over  her  lesson  books.  At  last  the  impulse  to 
do  something  was  more  than  she  could  stand,  and,  rising 
from  her  seat,  she  edged  her  way  to  the  door.  Mary  called 
after  her  in  French  to  know  what  she  was  going  to  do,  but 
Iris  would  make  no  reply.  She  reached  the  door,  opened 
it,  and  then  ran  as  fast  as  she  could  to  the  nursery. 

There  she  found  Simpson  putting  Orion  to  bed.  The 
little  boy  was  crying  bitterly. 

"As  soon  as  ever  you  lie  down,  master,  you  have  got  to 
drink  off  this  medicine,"  said  Simpson. 

"I  won't  touch  it — horrid  stuff !"  said  Orion. 

"But  you  must,  sir.  I'll  allow  no  'won'ts'  in  my  nurs- 
ery. Little  boys  have  got  to  do  what  they  are  told.  If 
you  make  any  fuss  I'll  just  hold  your  nose  and  then  you'll 
be  obliged  to  open  your  mouth,  and  down  the  medicine 
will  go.  Come,  come,  sir,  none  of  those  tears.  You  have 
been  a  very  naughty  little  boy,  and  the  pain  is  sent  you  as 
a  punishment." 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  Iris  !"  said  Orion.  "Oh,  Iris !  I  am 
so  glad.  Please  be  a  mother  to  me — please  put  your  arms 
round  me — please  kiss  me,  Iris." 

Iris  flew  to  the  little  fellow,  clasped  him  in  her  arms, 
and  held  his  hot  little  forehead  against  her  cheek. 

"Simpson,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  nurse,  "I  know 
quite  well  how  to  manage  him.  Won't  you  let  me  do  it?" 


A  Baby's  Honor.  145 

"I  am  sure,  Miss  Iris,  I'd  be  only  too  thankful,"  said 
the  perplexed  woman.  "There's  Miss  Eamsay  and  my 
mistress  in  no  end  of  a  state,  and  Master  Orion  as  obsti- 
nate as  a  boy  can  be.  There's  something  gone  wrong  in 
this  house  since  you  four  children  arrived,  and  I  really 
don't  know  how  I  am  to  stand  it  much  longer.  Not  that 
I  have  any  special  fault  to  find  with  you,  Miss  Iris,  nor, 
indeed,  for  that  matter,  with  Master  Apollo;  but  it's  the 
two  younger  ones.  They  are  handfuls,  and  no  mistake." 

"I  like  being  a  handfu'  'cept  when  I'm  sick,"  said  Orion. 
"I  don't  want  to  be  a  handfu'  to-day.  Please,  Iris,  don't 
mek  me  take  that  horrid  medicine." 

"He  must  take  it,  Miss  Iris;  he  won't  be  better  till  he 
do,"  said  the  nurse,  lifting  up  the  glass  as  she  spoke,  and 
stirring  the  contents  with  a  spoon.  "Come,  now,  sir,  be 
a  brave  boy.  Just  open  your  mouth  and  get  it  down.  Then 
you'll  drop  asleep,  and  when  you  wake  you  will  probably 
be  quite  well." 

Orion  pressed  his  lips  very  tightly  together. 

"You'll  take  the  medicine  for  me,  Orion?"  said  Iris. 

"No,  I  can't,"  he  moaned. 

"Oh,  but,  darling !  just  try  and  think.  Eemember  you 
are  a  giant — a  grand,  great  giant,  with  your  girdle  and 
your  sword,  and  this  medicine  is  just  an  enemy  that  you 
have  got  to  conquer.  Here  now;  open  your  mouth  and 
get  it  down.  Think  of  mother,  Orion.  She  would  like 
you  to  take  it." 

Orion  still  kept  his  mouth  very  firmly  shut,  but  he 
opened  his  sweet,  dark  eyes  and  looked  full  at  his  sister. 


146  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Would  mother  really  like  it?"  he  said  at  last,  in  a 
whisper. 

"Of  course;  it  would  make  her  ever  so  happy." 

"And  will  she  know  about  it,  Iris?" 

"I  think  she  will.  Maybe  she  is  in  the  room  with  us 
just  now." 

"Oh,  lor' !  what  awful  talk  to  say  to  the  child,"  mur- 
mured Simpson  to  herself. 

"If  I  really  thought  mother  could  see,  and  if  I  really 
thought "  began  the  little  boy. 

"Yes,  yes,  she  can  see!"  said  Iris,  going  on  her  knees 
and  clasping  both  the  little  fellow's  hands  in  one  of  hers. 
"She  can  see,  she  does  know,  and  she  wants  her  own  brave 
giant  to  be  a  giant  to  the  end.  Now,  here  is  the  enemy; 
open  your  mouth,  conquer  it  at  one  gulp." 

"Well,  to  be  sure,"  whispered  Simpson. 

Orion,  however,  did  not  glance  at  Simpson.  He  gazed 
solemnly  round  the  room  as  if  he  really  saw  someone; 
then  he  fixed  his  brown  eyes  on  his  sister's  face,  then  he 
opened  his  mouth  very  wide.  She  instantly  took  the  cup 
and  held  it  to  the  little  lips.  Orion  drained  off  the 
nauseous  draught  and  lay  back,  panting,  on  his  pillow. 

"It  was  a  big  thing  to  conquer.  I  am  a  fine  giant," 
he  said,  when  he  returned  the  empty  cup  to  Iris. 

"Yes,  you  are  a  splendid  old  chap,"  she  replied. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Dolman  and  Miss  Eamsay  en- 
tered the  room. 

"Has  Orion  taken  his  medicine?"  said  Mrs.  Dolman. 
"Iris,  my  dear,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Aunt  Jane,"  replied  Iris,  "but  I  had 


A  Baby's  Honor.  147 

to  come.  He  would  never  have  taken  his  medicine  but 
for  me.  I  had  to  remind  him " 

"To  remind  him  of  his  duty.  He  certainly  wanted  to 
be  reminded.  So  he  has  taken  the  medicine.  I  am  glad  of 
that;  but  all  the  same,  Iris,  you  did  very  wrong  to  leave 
the  schoolroom." 

"Please  forgive  me  this  one  time,  Aunt  Jane." 

"I  really  think  Iris  does  try  to  be  a  good  child,"  in- 
terrupted Miss  Eamsay. 

"And  she  certainly  can  manage  her  little  brother, 
ma'am,"  said  Simpson,  speaking  for  the  first  time.  "He 
would  not  touch  his  medicine  for  me — no,  not  for  any- 
thing I  could  do;  but  he  drank  it  off  when  Miss  Iris 
talked  some  gibberish,  all  about  giants  and  belts  and 
swords." 

"Tisn't  gibberish,"  said  Orion,  starting  up  from  his 
pillow;  "it's  the  truest  thing  in  all  the  world.  I  am  a 
giant,  and  I  has  got  a  belt  and  a  sword.  You  can  look 
up  in  the  sky  on  starful  nights  and  you  can  see  me. 
'Tisn't  gibberish." 

"Well,  lie  down,  child,  and  go  to  sleep.  I  am  afraid 
he  is  a  bit  feverish,  ma'am." 

"No,  that  I  aren't,"  said  Orion.  "Only  I'm  drefful 
sick,"  he  added. 

"Listen  to  me,  Orion,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  seating  her- 
self on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  gazing  very  sternly  at  the 
little  fellow.  "I  intend  to  wring  a  confession  out  of 
you." 

"Whaf  8  to  wring  ?"  asked  Orion. 


148  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"I  am  going  to  get  you  to  tell  me  where  you  got  the 
lollipops  and  ginger-beer." 

"I  promised  not  to  tell,  and  I  aren't  going  to,"  an- 
swered Orion. 

"But  you  must.    I  insist." 

"Perhaps,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Iris,  "I  could  get  him  to 
tell.  You  see  he  is  not  accustomed  to — not  accustomed 
to "  Her  little  face  turned  crimson. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Iris?  Do  you  object  to  the  way 
I  speak  to  this  child?" 

"Mother  never  spoke  to  him  like  that,"  said  Iris.  "And 
oh !  it  is  so  hot,  and  he  is  not  well,  and  I  think  I  can 
manage  him.  I  may  get  him  to  tell  me." 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Orion,  "'cos  you'll  be  faith- 
ful." 

"Well,  really,'  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "I  am  absolutely  per- 
plexed. I  suppose  I  must  give  in  on  this  occasion,  or  that 
child  will  be  really  ill,  and  I  by  no  means  wish  to  have  the 
expense  of  a  doctor.  Miss  Eamsay,  you  and  I  had  better 
leave  that  little  pair  together.  You  can  remain  with 
Orion  until  dinner-time,  Iris." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed,  Aunt  Jane,"  replied 
Iris. 

That  day  at  dinner  Iris  looked  very  grave.  Orion  was 
better,  but  was  not  present.  Mrs.  Dolman  waited  until 
the  meal  had  come  to  an  end,  then  she  called  the  little 
girl  to  her  side. 

"Now,  my  dear  Iris,  what  is  all  this  mystery?"  she 
asked. 


A  Baby's  Honor.  149 

"Orion  has  told  me  all  about  it,  Aunt  Jane,  but  I  don't 
think  I'll  tell.  Please  don't  ask  me." 

"My  dear,  I  insist  upon  knowing." 

"It  was  not  his  fault,  Aunt  Jane,  and  I  am  almost  sure 
he  will  never  do  it  again ;  he  is  very  sorry  indeed.  I  think 
he  will  try  to  be  good  in  future." 

Mrs.  Dolman  was  about  to  reply  angrily,  when  a  sud- 
den memory  came  over  her.  She  recalled  words  her  brother 
had  used. 

"I  will  give  you  the  children,"  he  had  said,  "but  you 
must  try  to  be  gentle  with  them." 

She  looked  at  Iris  now,  and  did  not  speak  for  nearly  a 
minute. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  then;  "you  are  a  queer  child, 
but  I  am  inclined  to  trust  you.  Only  please  understand 
that  if  ever  there  is  any  misconduct  in  the  future,  I  shall 
insist  on  knowing  everything." 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,  Aunt  Jane.  I  could  love 
you  for  being  eo  kind.  I  will  promise  that  Orion  never 
does  anything  of  that  sort  again." 

The  children  all  filed  out  of  the  dining  room.  They  had 
now,  according  to  the  rule  of  the  day,  to  return  to  the 
schoolroom  and  lie  down  for  an  hour.  This  part  of  the 
daily  programme  was  intensely  distasteful  to  the  little 
Dolmans,  and  certainly  the  Delaneys  did  not  appreciate 
it  a  bit  better,  but  at  last  the  long  wearisome  lessons  were 
over,  and  the  little  people  were  free. 

The  moment  they  got  into  the  garden  Philip  and  Con- 
rad might  have  been  seen  scudding  away  as  fast  as  their 


150  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

little  feet  could  carry  them.  Iris,  however,  had  watched 
ihem  disappearing. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  the  boys,"  she  said  to  Ann. 

"Why?"  asked  Ann. 

"Please  ask  them  to  come  to  me,  Ann ;  I  have  something 
most  particular  to  say  to  them." 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  answered  Ann,  turning  crim- 
son ;  "it  was  Philip  and  Conrad  who  got  poor  little  Orion 
into  mischief.  Oh,  Iris !  it  was  brave  of  you,  and  it  was 
brave  of  Orion  not  to  tell.  I  wondered  how  you  had  the 
courage  to  defy  mamma." 

"I  did  not  defy  her,"  answered  Iris.  "But  please  Ann, 
I  must  speak  to  the  boys.  Send  them  to  me  at  once." 

"They  are  frightened,  and  are  going  to  hide,"  said  Ann ; 
"but  I'll  soon  get  them,"  she  answered.  "I  know  their 
ways." 

After  a  minute  or  two  she  returned,  leading  Philip  and 
Conrad  by  the  hands. 

"Iris  wants  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said  to  them. 

"Yes,"  said  Iris,  "I  want  to  say  something  to  you  by 
yourselves." 

Ann  disappeared. 

"I  love  Iris,"  whispered  little  Ann  Dolman  to  herself. 
"I  think  she  is  beautiful;  and  how  brave  she  is!  I  wish 
I  were  like  her." 

"What  do  you  want  with  us,  Iris  ?"  asked  Philip,  when 
he  found  himself  alone  with  his  cousin.  H»  raised  de- 
fiant eyes,  and  put  on  an  ugly  little  scowl. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  Phil,"  said  Iris,  "that  I  know  every- 
thing. Poor  little  Orion  would  not  confess,  because  you 


A  Baby's  Honor.  151 

got  him  to  promise  not  to  tell;  but,  of  course,  he  told  me 
the  truth.  Don't  you  think  you  behaved  very  badly  in- 
deed?'"' 

"We  don't  want  you  to  lecture  us,"  said  Conrad. 

"All  right/'  replied  Iris  with  spirit.  "But  please  re- 
member that  I  promised  Orion  I  would  not  tell,  only  so 
long  as  you  make  me  a  promise  that  you  will  not  tempt 
him  again.  If  ever  I  hear  that  you  have  led  Orion  into 
mischief,  I  will  tell  everything." 

"I  thought  you  looked  like  a  tell-tale,"  said  Conrad. 

"No,  I  am  not,  nor  is  Orion;  you  know  better,  both 
of  you.  Now,  please  understand  that  I  will  not  have 
Orion  made  miserable  nor  tempted  to  do  naughty  things. 
Aunt  Jane  thinks  you  are  good  boys,  and  she  thinks  Diana 
and  Orion  very  bad  little  children;  but  neither  Orion  nor 
Diana  would  do  the  sort  of  thing  you  both  did  yester- 
day. Neither  of  them  would  think  of  that  sort  of  naughti- 
ness. I  call  it  mean." 

Iris  walked  away  with  her  head  in  the  air.  The  boys 
gazed  after  her  with  a  queer  sinking  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BIRCH   BOD. 

Orion  speedily  recovered  from  his  bad  fit  of  indigestion, 
and  matters  began  to  shake  down  a  little  in  the  school- 
room and  nursery.  No  one  meant  to  be  unkind  to  the 
little  Delaneys;  and  although  all  things  were  changed  for 
them,  in  some  ways  both  Iris  and  Apollo  were  all  the  bet- 
ter for  the  strict  and  vigorous  discipline  they  were  now 
undergoing.  Iris  really  enjoyed  her  lessons,  and  when 
Apollo  found  that  he  had  no  chance  of  going  to  school, 
and  of  being  with  "fellows,"  as  he  expressed  it,  until  he 
had  conquered  certain  difficult  tasks  which  Miss  Eamsay 
set  him,  he  began,  for  his  own  sake,  to  apply  himself  to 
his  lessons.  He  was  a  bright,  clever  little  chap,  and  when 
he  tried  to  understand  his  governess'  method  of  teaching, 
he  did  his  work  fairly  well.  But  Diana  and  Orion  were 
much  too  young  for  the  somewhat  severe  transplantation 
which  had  taken  place  in  their  little  lives.  Had  Iris  been 
allowed  to  be  with  them  matters  might  not  have  grown 
quite  so  bad,  but  she  was  much  occupied  with  her  lessons, 
and  the  younger  children  spent  the  greater  part  of  their 
time  alone. 

Philip  and  Conrad  were  afraid  to  make  any  further  ad- 
vances to  Orion.  In  consequence,  he  had  no  companion 
152 


Birch  Rod.  153 

near  his  own  age,  except  Diana,  and  Diana's  little  heart, 
day  by  day,  was  growing  fuller  of  insubordinate  and  an- 
gry feelings.  She  was  not  at  all  by  nature  an  unforgiving 
little  child,  but  the  want  of  petting  and  the  severe  life 
which  she  waa  obliged  to  lead  began  to  tell  on  her  high 
spirits.  She  became  defiant,  and  was  always  looking  out 
for  an  opportunity  to  vent  her  wrath  upon  the  people 
whom  she  termed  her  enemies.  Had  Iris  only  had  a 
chance  of  talking  to  the  little  girl,  she  would  soon  have 
got  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter,  and  things  might  not  have 
turned  out  as  they  did;  but  Iris  did  not  even  sleep  in  the 
room  with  Diana,  and  in  her  sister's  presence  the  little 
girl  made  a  valiant  effort  to  appear  as  happy  as  usual.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  however,  she  and  Orion  spent  most  of 
their  playtime  in  perfecting  their  little  scheme  of  revenge, 
and  on  a  certain  hot  day  matters  came  to  a  crisis. 

It  had  been  much  more  trying  than  usual  in  the  school- 
room; the  sun  seemed  to  beat  in  with  fiercer  rays;  there 
were  more  flies  on  the  window-panes,  and  the  air  seemed 
more  charged  with  that  terrible  sleepiness  which  poor 
little  Diana  could  not  quite  conquer.  At  last  she  dropped 
so  sound  asleep  that  Miss  Ramsay  took  pity  on  her,  and 
told  her  she  might  go  and  have  a  run  in  the  garden. 

"Go  into  the  Filbert  walk,"  said  the  governess;  "don't 
on  any  account  play  where  the  sun  is  shining.  You  may 
stay  out  for  half  an  hour.  There  is  a  clock  just  by  the 
stables,  which  you  can  see  when  you  come  to  the  end  of 
the  walk;  you  will  know  then  when  the  half-hour  is  out. 
Run  off  now  and  enjoy  yourself." 

Diana  scarcely  wasted  any  time  in  thanking  Miss  Earn- 


154  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

say.  She  flew  from  the  schoolroom  as  though  she  were 
herself  a  little  arrow  shot  from  a  bow,  she  tumbled  rather 
than  walked  downstairs,  and  with  no  hat  over  her  thick, 
black  curls,  careered  out  wildly,  shouting  as  she  did  so. 
The  prospect  of  the  walk  and  the  look  of  the  sunshine  were 
making  the  little  girl  very  happy,  and  she  might  not  have 
thought  of  any  special  revenge  had  not  Mrs.  Dolman  at 
that  moment  caught  sight  of  her. 

Mrs.  Dolman  was  coming  out  of  the  kitchen  garden. 
She  had  on  her  invariable  mushroom  hat,  her  face  was 
much  flushed  with  exercise,  and  she  was  by  no  means  in 
the  best  of  humors. 

"Diana/'  she  said,  "what  are  you  doing?  Come  here 
this  minute." 

"No,  I  won't,"  answered  Diana.  She  backed  before  the 
good  lady,  dancing  and  skipping  and  flinging  her  fat  arms 
over  her  head.  "Oh,  it's  'licious  out !"  she  said :  "I  won't 
come.  I  has  only  got  half  an  hour;  I  hasn't  any  time;  I 
won't  come." 

Mrs.  Dolman  began  to  run  after  her,  which  fact  ex- 
cited the  little  girl  very  much.  She  instantly  raced  away, 
and  the  stout  lady  had  to  follow  her,  panting  and  puffing. 

"Diana,  you  are  a  dreadfully  naughty  little  girl;  if  I 
catch  you  up,  won't  I  punish  you !"  panted  Mrs.  Dolman. 

"I  don't  care,"  called  back  Diana.  "You  can't  catch 
me  up;  you  is  fat;  you  can't  wun.  See,  let's  have  a  wace 
— let's  find  out  who'll  be  at  the  end  of  the  walk  first.  Now 
then,  one,  two,  three,  and  away.  Go  it,  Aunt  Jane !  Now, 
then,  k'ick,  Aunt  Jane,  k'ick!" 

Mrs.  Dolman's  rage  at  this  great  impertinence  made 


Birch  Rod.  155 

her  almost  speechless.  She  flew  after  Diana,  but  would 
have  had  little  or  no  chance  of  catching  her,  if  the  child 
had  not  suddenly  tripped  up  against  a  stone  and  meas- 
ured her  full  length  on  the  ground.  Before  she  could 
rise  again  Mrs.  Dolman  had  caught  her  by  the  shoulder, 
and,  as  a  preliminary  measure,  began  to  shake  her  vio- 
lently. 

"You  are  a  bad  little  thing,"  she  said.  "Why  didn't 
you  come  to  me  when  I  called  you?" 

"  'Cos  I  didn't  want  to,  Aunt  Jane." 

"But  do  you  know  that  you  have  got  to  obey  me,  miss? 
What  would  your  mother  say?" 

"You  isn't  to  dare  to  talk  of  mother  to  me,"  answered 
Diana. 

"Highty-tighty !  I'm  not  to  dare.  Do  you  suppose, 
Diana,  that  I  will  allow  a  little  child  like  you  to  defy 
me  in  my  own  house?" 

"What's  defy?"  asked  Diana. 

"You  are  defying  me  now;  you  are  a  very  naughty 
little  girl,  and  I  shall  punish  you." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Diana,  tossing  her  head.  "I  was 
sent  out  by  Miss  Wamsay  'cos  I  found  the  schoolroom  too 
hot  and  I  was  sleepy.  I  can't  obey  you  and  Miss  Wam- 
say both  at  the  same  time,  can  I?  I  did  not  come  to  you 
'cos  I  don't  like  you." 

"That's  a  pretty  thing  to  say  to  your  own  aunt.  Come, 
miss,  I  shall  punish  you  immediately." 

"Oh,  you's  going  to  lock  me  up  in  the  punishment 
woom.  I  don't  care  one  bit  for  that,"  said  Diana.  "I'll 
just  lie  on  the  floor  and  curl  up  like  a  puppy  and  go  to 


156  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

s'eep.  I  dweam  beautiful  when  I  s'eep.  I  dweam  that 
you  is  shotted,  and  that  I  is  back  again  in  the  dear  old 
garden  at  home  with  all  the  pets;  and  that  Rub-a-Dub  is 
alive  again.  I  dweam  that  you  is  shotted  down  dead,  and 
you  can  do  no  more  harm,  and " 

But  Diana  could  not  proceed  any  further.  Mrs.  Dol- 
man, in  her  wild  indignation,  had  lifted  her  in  her  arms, 
clapped  her  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  carried  her  bodily 
into  the  study,  where  Mr.  Dolman  was  preparing  his  ser- 
mon. 

"William/'  said  his  wife,  "I  am  really  very  sorry  to  dis- 
turb you,  but  I  must  ask  you  to  come  to  my  assistance." 

"In  what  way,  Jane?"  he  said.  He  pushed  his  spec- 
tacles, as  his  invariable  habit  was,  high  up  on  the  middle 
of  his  forehead,  and  looked  from  his  wife  to  Diana,  and 
from  Diana  back  again  to  his  wife. 

"Hi,  Diana !  is  that  you  ?  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  lit- 
tle one?"  he  said. 

"You  are  not  to  speak  to  this  very  naughty  little  girl," 
said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  William, 
but  matters  have  come  to  a  crisis,  and  if  you  don't  sup- 
port your  wife  on  this  occasion,  I  really  do  not  know  what 
will  happen." 

"But,  my  dear  Jane,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  little 
Diana " 

"Little  Diana!"  repeated  Mrs.  Dolman.  "She  is  quite 
a  monster,  I  can  tell  you — a  monster  of  ingratitude,  wick- 
edness, and  rudeness,  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  keep  her 
any  longer  with  our  own  children." 

"But  I  am  afraid,  my  dear  wife,  we  cannot  get  David 


Birch  Rod.  157 

Delaney  back  now;  he  must  have  reached  the  Himalayas 
by  this  time.'* 

"Poor  fellow !"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "I  pity  him  for  being 
the  father  of  such  a  very  bad  little  girl." 

"I  aren't  bad,"  cried  Diana.  "If  you  say  an/  more, 
naughty  woman,  I'll  slap  'oo." 

Mrs.  Dolman  thought  it  best  to  let  Diana  slide  down  on 
the  floor. 

The  moment  the  little  girl  found  her  feet  she  rushed 
up  to  her  Uncle  Dolman. 

"I  like  you,  old  man,"  she  said;  "you  isn't  half  a  bad 
sort.  I'll  stay  with  you.  P'ease,  Aunt  Jane,  punish  me 
by  letting  me  stay  with  Uncle  William.  I'll  just  sit  on 
the  floor  curled  up,  and  maybe  I'll  dwop  as'eep,  and  have 
my  nice  dweams  about  the  time  when  you  is  shotted,  and 
I'm  back  again  in  the  old  garden  with  all  my  darlin',  dear, 
sweet  pets.  I'll  dweam,  p'waps,  that  we  is  having  fu- 
nerals in  the  garden  and  we  is  awfu'  happy,  and  you  is 
shotted  down  dead.  Let  me  stay  with  Uncle  William, 
Aunt  Jane." 

"Now,  you  gee  what  kind  of  child  she  is,  William,"  said 
Mrs.  Dolman.  "You  have  heard  her  with  your  own  ears 
— she  absolutely  threatens  me.  Oh,  I  cannot  name  what 
she  says;  it  is  so  shocking.  I  never  came  across  such  a 
terribly  bad  little  girl.  William,  I  must  insist  here  and 
now  on  your  chastising  her." 

"In  what  way?"  said  Mr.  Dolman.  "I  am  rery  busy, 
my  dear  Jane,  over  my  sermon.  Could  it  not  be  post- 
poned, or  could  not  you,  my  dear?" 

"No,  William,  I  could  not,  for  the  dark  room  is  not  bad 


158  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

enough  for  this  naughty  little  girl.  She  must  be  whipped, 
and  you  must  do  it.  Fetch  the  birch  rod." 

"But  really,"  said  Mr.  Dolman,  looking  terribly  dis- 
tressed, "you  know  I  don't  approve  of  corporal  punish- 
ment, my  dear." 

"No  more  do  I,  except  in  extreme  cases,  but  this  is  one. 
William,  I  insist  on  your  whipping  this  very  bad  little 
girl." 

"I  don't  care  if  you  whip  me,"  said  Diana.  She  stood 
bolt  upright  now,  but  her  round,  flushed  little  face  be- 
gan perceptibly  to  pale. 

Mr.  Dolman  looked  at  her  attentively,  then  he  glanced 
at  his  wife,  and  then  at  the  manuscript  which  lay  on  his 
desk.  He  always  hated  writing  his  sermons,  and,  truth  to 
tell,  did  not  write  at  all  good  ones;  but  on  this  special 
morning  his  ideas  seemed  to  come  a  little  more  rapidly 
than  usual — now,  of  course,  he  had  lost  every  thought, 
and  the  sermon  was  ruined.  Besides,  he  was  a  kind-heart- 
ed man.  He  thought  Diana  a  very  handsome  little  fury, 
and  was  rather  amused  with  her  than  otherwise.  Had 
she  been  left  alone  with  him,  he  would  not  have  taken 
the  least  notice  of  her  defiant  words.  He  would  have  said 
to  himself,  "She  is  but  a  baby,  and  if  I  take  no  notice  she 
will  soon  cease  to  talk  in  this  very  silly  manner." 

But  alas !  there  was  little  doubt  that  Uncle  William  was 
very  much  afraid  of  Aunt  Jane,  and  when  Aunt  Jane 
dared  him  to  produce  the  birch  rod,  there  was  nothing 
whatever  for  it  but  to  comply.  He  rose  and  walked  slowly 
and  very  unwillingly  across  the  room.  He  unlocked  the 
door  of  a  big  cupboard  in  the  wall,  and,  poking  in  his 


Birch  Eod.  159 

large,  soft,  flabby  hand,  presently  produced  what  looked 
in  Diana's  eyes  a  very  terrible  instrument.  It  was  a  rod, 
clean,  slender,  and  with,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it, 
temper  all  over  it.  It  flashed  through  her  little  mind  by 
and  by  that,  if  she  could  really  secure  this  rod,  it  might 
make  a  better  bow  even  than  the  one  which  she  and  Apollo 
had  hidden  in  the  wood,  but  she  had  little  time  to  think 
of  any  future  use  for  the  birch  rod  at  this  awful  moment. 
The  terrible  instrument  in  Uncle  William's  flabby  hand 
was  carried  across  the  room.  When  she  saw  it  approach- 
ing her  vicinity  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  and  hid  her- 
self under  the  table. 

"Come,  come ;  none  of  this  nonsense !"  said  Mrs.  Dol- 
man. "Punished  you  shall  be.  You  must  be  made  to  un- 
derstand that  you  are  to  respect  your  elders.  Now,  then, 
William,  fetch  that  child  out." 

"Diana,  my  dear,  you  are  a  very  naughty  little  girl; 
come  here,"  said  Mr.  Dolman. 

Diana  would  not  have  minded  in  the  least  defying  Aunt 
Jane,  but  there  was  something  in  Uncle  William's  slow 
tones,  particularly  in  a  sort  of  regret  which  seemed  to 
tremble  in  his  voice,  and  which  Diana  felt  without  under- 
standing, which  forced  her  to  obey.  She  scrambled  slowly 
out,  her  hair  tumbled  over  her  forehead,  her  lower  lip 
drooping. 

"Suppose  I  have  a  little  talk  with  her,  Jane;  suppose 
she  says  she  is  sorry  and  never  does  it  again,"  said  Mr. 
Dolman. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  Uncle  William!"  said  Diana,  really  ter- 
rified for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  "Yes,  I's  sossy — I's 


160  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

awfu'  sossy,  Aunt  Jane.  It's  all  wight  now,  Aunt  Jane; 
Diana's  sossy." 

"You  shall  be  a  great  deal  more  sorry  before  I  have  done 
with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  who  had  no  idea  of  letting 
the  culprit  off.  "Now,  then,  William,  do  your  duty." 

"But  it's  all  wight,"  said  Diana,  gazing  with  puzzled 
eyes  up  into  her  aunt's  face.  "Fs  been  a  bad  girl,  but  Fs 
sossy;  it's  all  vright,  I  say.  Naughty  wod,  go  'way, 
naughty  wod." 

She  tried  to  push  the  rod  out  of  Mr.  Dolman's  hand. 

"Eeally,  Jane,  she  is  only  five  years  old,  and — and  a 
poor  little  orphan,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  said  Diana  eagerly,  "Fs  a  poor  orphan,  only  a 
baby,  five  years  old,  awfu'  young,  and  I's  sossy,  and  it's 
all  wight  now.  Go  'way,  Aunt  Jane;  go  'way,  naughty 
Aunt  Jane;  I's  sossy." 

"William,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "if  you  refuse  to  give 
that  child  the  necessary  punishment  which  is  to  make  her 
a  Christian  character,  I  shall  simply  wash  my  hands  of 
her.  Now,  then,  miss,  get  on  my  lap.  William,  do  your 
duty." 

Poor  Mr.  Dolman,  pale  to  the  very  lips,  was  forced  to 
comply.  Down  went  the  rod  on  the  fat  little  form — 
shriek  after  shriek  uttered  Diana.  At  last,  more  from  ter- 
ror than  pain,  she  lay  quiet  on  Mrs.  Dolman's  knee.  The 
moment  she  did  so,  Mr.  Dolman  threw  the  rod  on  the 
floor. 

"It's  a  horrid  business,"  he  said.  "I  hate  corporal  pun- 
ishment. We  have  hurt  the  child.  Here,  give  her  to 
me." 


Birch  Rod.  161 

"Nonsense,  William !    She  is  only  pretending/' 

But  this  vras  not  the  case.  The  fright,  joined  to  the 
state  of  excitement  and  heat  which  she  had  been  previously 
in,  proved  too  much  for  the  defiant  little  spirit,  and  Diana 
had  realty  fainted. 

Mrs.  Dolman  was  frightened  now,  and  rushed  for  cold 
water.  She  bathed  the  child's  forehead,  and  soon  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  her  coming  to  again. 

There  was  not  a  word  of  defiance  from  Diana  now,  and 
not  a  single  utterance  of  reproach,  but  when  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Dolman  there  was  an  expression  in  her  black  eyes 
from  which  this  lady  absolutely  recoiled. 

"Uncle  William,  I's  hurted  awfu',"  whispered  Diana. 
"Let  me  lie  in  your  arms,  p'ease,  Uncle  William." 

And  eo  she  did  for  the  rest  of  the  morning,  and  the 
sermon  never  got  written. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DIANA'S  BEVENGE. 

Diana  had  quite  a  nice  time  for  the  rest  of  the  morn- 
ing. Uncle  William  had  not  the  least  idea  of  sending  her 
back  to  the  schoolroom. 

"If s  very  hot,"  he  said,  "and  I  feel  sleepy.  I  dare  say 
you  do  also." 

"I  do  awfu',"  answered  Diana.  "You  isn't  a  bad  old  man, 
not  at  all,"  she  continued.  Here  she  raised  her  fat  hand 
and  stroked  his  flabby  cheek.  "You  hates  writing  ser- 
mons, don't  you?" 

"Diana,"  he  answered,  "I  would  rather  you  did  not 
speak  about  it." 

"Oh,  I  can  keep  secrets,"  replied  Diana. 

"Well,  in  that  case,  to  be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  do 
not  care  for  writing  sermons." 

"And  I  don't  care  for  learning  lessons.  You  didn't 
mean  to  sting  me  so  bad  with  that  howid  wod,  did  you, 
Uncle  William?" 

Mr.  Dolman  made  no  reply  with  his  lips,  for  he  did  not 
like  to  defy  his  wife's  authority,  but  Diana  read  his 
thoughts  in  his  rather  dull  blue  eyes. 

"You  is  a  kind  old  man,"  she  said;  "that  is,  when  you 
162 


Diana's  Revenge.  163 

isn't  tempted  by  that  naughty,  howid  woman.  You  is  a 
kind  old  man  by  yourself,  and  you  shan't  be  shotted." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  being  shotted,  Diana?" 

But  here  Diana  pursed  up  her  rosy  lips  and  looked 
rather  solemn. 

"That's  a  secret,"  she  answered.  "Uncle  William,  may 
I  have  a  whole  holiday  to-day?" 

"I  think  so,  my  dear  little  girl.  I  really  think  that  can 
be  managed.  It  is  too  hot  to  work — at  least,  I  find  it  so." 

"Then  course  I  does  also,"  answered  Diana,  clapping 
her  hands.  "Shall  we  go  out  into  the  garding — what  you 
say?" 

"Would  you  like  to?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  more  particular  in  fruit  garding.  We  can  eat 
cherries  and  strawberries,  and  pelt  each  other.  What  you 
say?" 

Mr.  Dolman  looked  out  of  the  open  window.  He  was 
pretty  certain  that  his  wife  by  this  time  was  absent  in  the 
village.  The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  pointed  to  half- 
past  eleven;  the  early  dinner  would  not  be  ready  until 
one  o'clock.  It  would  be  cool  and  pleasant  in  the  fruit 
garden,  and  it  would  please  poor  little  Diana,  who,  in  his 
opinion,  had  been  very  harshly  treated. 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  "but,  you  know,  your  aunt 
is  not  to  be  told." 

He  rose  from  his  chair  as  he  spoke,  and,  stretching  out 
his  long  hand,  allowed  Diana  to  curl  her  fingers  round  one 
of  his. 

"I  should  wather  think  Aunt  Jane  isn't  to  know,"  re- 
plied Diana,  beginning  to  skip  in  her  rapture.  "I  don't 


164  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

like  aunts;  I  always  said  so.    I  like  uncles;  they  isn't  half 

bad.    You  isn't  bad,  for  an  old  man.    You  is  awfu'  old, 

isn't  you?" 

"Not  BO  very  old,  Diana.    I'm  not  forty  yet." 

"Forty !    What  a  ter'ble  age !"  said  Diana.    "You  must 

'member  all  the  kings  and  queens  of  England;  don't  you, 

Uncle  William?" 

"Not  quite  all,  Diana.    Now,  I'll  just  take  you  through 

the  garden,  for  I  think  a  little  fresh  air  will  do  you 


"And  if  I  pop  cherries  into  your  mouf  it  11  do  you 
good,"  answered  Diana.  "Oh,  we'll  have  a  lovely  time!" 

So  they  did,  and  Mr.  Dolman  devoutly  hoped  that  there 
was  no  one  there  to  see.  For  Diana  rapidly  recovered  her 
spirits,  and  picked  cherries  in  quantities  and  pelted  her 
uncle;  and  then  she  ran  races  and  incited  him  to  follow 
her,  and  she  picked  strawberries,  heaps  and  heaps,  and  got 
him  to  sit  down  on  a  little  bench  near  the  strawberry  beds, 
and  popped  the  delicious  ripe  berries  into  his  mouth;  and 
although  he  had  never  played  before  in  euch  a  fashion 
with  any  little  girl,  he  quite  enjoyed  it,  and  presently  en- 
tered the  house  with  his  lips  suspiciously  red,  and  a  con- 
fession deep  down  in  his  heart  that  he  had  spent  quite  a 
pleasant  morning. 

At  dinner-time  Diana  and  her  uncle  walked  into  the 
room,  side  by  side. 

"Well,  William,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  "I  hope  you  have 
finished  your  sermon." 

"Not  quite,  my  dear,"  he  answered. 

"Not  kite,  my  dear,"  echoed  Diana. 


Diana's  Revenge.  165 

Mr.  Dolman  gave  her  a  half-terrified  glance,  but  she  was 
stanch  enough,  and  had  not  the  least  idea  of  betra/ing  the 
happy  morning  they  had  spent  together. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  meal,  her  clear  little  voice 
might  have  been  heard  calling  to  her  uncle. 

"Uncle  William,  you  wishes  me  to  have  a  whole  holi- 
day; doesn't  you?  You  pwomised  I  is  to  have  a  whole 
holiday  to-day." 

Now,  Mrs.  Dolman  had  felt  very  uncomfortable  about 
Diana  during  her  hot  walk  to  the  village  that  morning. 
She  had  not  at  all  minded  punishing  her,  but  when  she 
saw  her  lying  white  and  unconscious  in  her  arms,  she  had 
certainly  gone  through  a  terrible  moment,  and  had,  per- 
haps, in  the  whole  course  of  her  life,  never  felt  so  thankful 
as  when  the  black  eyes  opened  wide,  and  the  little  voice 
sounded  once  again.  The  look,  too,  that  Diana  had  given 
her  on  this  occasion  she  could  not  quite  efface  from  her 
recollection.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  she  felt  inclined  to 
be  gentle  to  the  little  girl,  and  when  she  pleaded  for  a 
holiday  Mrs.  Dolman  did  not  say  a  word  to  interfere. 

"It  is  a  Tery  hot  day,  and  Diana  was  not  quite  well  this 
morning,"  said  Mr.  Dolman,  glancing  first  at  his  wife 
and  then  at  Miss  Eamsay,  "so,  all  things  considered,  per- 
haps  " 

"Thank  you,  uncle,"  interrupted  Diana,  "it's  kite  set- 
tled, and  you  isn't  half  a  bad  sort  of  old  man.  And  now, 
p'ease,  I  want  Orion  to  have  a  holiday  too. 

"Oh,  that'*  another  matter !"  interrupted  Mise  Eamsay. 
"Orion  is  in  perfect  health  to-day,  and  as  he  is  extremely 
backward  for  his  age " 


166  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"But  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  the  child  being  so  young/' 
put  in  Mr.  Dolman. 

"I'd  be  much  happier  if  I  had  Orion  with  me,"  con- 
tinued Diana,  ''and  it's  'portant  my  being  happy;  isn't 
it,  Uncle  William  ?  P'ease,  Uncle  William,  say  that  Orion 
may  have  a  holiday." 

"I  will  give  leave  if  your  aunt  and  Miss  Kamsay  will," 
he  replied. 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me !"  said  Mrs.  Dolman,  rising  hastily 
as  she  spoke.  "I  wash  my  hands  of  the  pair." 

"She  washes  her  hands  of  the  pair,  so  she  don't  count," 
said  Diana.  "Is  we  to  have  a  holiday,  Uncle  William?  I 
is,  but  is  Orion,  too?  That's  the  'portant  part,"  she 
added. 

"I  have  no  objection,"  said  Miss  Eamsay,  who  thought 
it  best  to  close  this  scene  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Orion  uttered  a  shout  of  rapture,  Diana  rushed  up  to 
him,  clutched  him  round  the  neck,  and  pulled  him  from 
the  room. 

Nearly  wild  with  glee,  they  both  ran  helter-skelter  out 
of  the  house,  into  the  cool  shrubbery  beyond. 

"Now,  Orion,"  said  Diana,  the  moment  they  found 
themselves  alone,  "you  must  cool  down  and  not  'cite  your- 
self too  much.  We  has  a  ter'ble  lot  of  work  to  do.  I  has 
got  my  holiday  through  awfu'  suff'in'.  I  was  beated  and 
killed,  and  I  has  come  fresh  to  life  again.  Course  I's  in  a 
wage,  and  I's  got  a  holiday  for  you  and  for  me  'cos  we 
must  do  our  work.  Wun  upstairs,  Orion,  and  bwing  down 
your  big  straw  hat  and  mine,  and  we'll  go  and  find  them." 

Orion  knew  perfectly  well  what  "them"  meant.     He 


Diana's  Revenge.  167 

looked  hard  at  Diana,  saw  something  in  her  eyes  which 
she  could  not  suppress,  and,  with  a  sigh  of  mingled  pleas- 
ure and  alarm  ran  off  to  do  her  bidding.  He  returned  in 
less  than  a  minute  with  his  large  sailor  hat  stuck  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  a  white  sun-bonnet  for  Diana. 
Diana's  sun-bonnet  had  a  black  bow  at  the  back  and  black 
strings. 

"Howid,  hot  old  thing,"  she  said,  "I  won't  wear  it. 
Here,  let's  hide  it;  I  don't  mind  going  with  nothing." 

"But  you  must  not  do  that,"  said  Orion,  "  'cos,  if  they 
<see  you,  they'll  catch  you  and  bring  you  home.  You  had 
best  sling  it  on  your  arm,  Di;  and  then,  if  they  are  seen 
coming,  why,  you  can  pop  it  on  your  head." 

"Well,  p'w'aps  so,"  answered  Diana.  "We  has  an  awfu' 
lot  to  do  this  afternoon,  Orion,  'cos  Aunt  Jane  has  got 
to  be  shotted,  and  I's  thinking  of  having  Miss  Wamsay 
shotted  too." 

"But  do  you  mean,"  said  Orion,  "that  you'll  really  shoot 
'em  both?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Diana.  "It  has  to  be  done;  it's  ter'ble, 
but  it  must  be  done.  What  would  be  the  good  if  they 
wasn't  shotted  dead?  Yes,  they'll  be  shotted,  and  they'll 
have  a  public  funeral,  and  after  that  we'll  have  a  lovely 
time.  Uncle  William  isn't  half  bad,  and  'stead  of  doing 
howid  lessons  every  morning  we'll  just  go  into  the  garding 
and  eat  stwawberries  and  cherries,  and  he'll  play  with  us. 
He'll  love  to,  for  he  don't  like  writing  sermins  a  bit,  and 
we'll  blindfold  him  and  he'll  wun  after  us.  He's  k'ite  a 
nice  old  man,  and  if  Aunt  Jane  and  Miss  Wamsay  is 


168  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others*. 

shotted — why,  we'll  have  a  jolly  time.  Now,  left  wun  and 
fetch  the  big  bow  and  arrows." 

Orion  had  always  a  great  respect  for  his  younger  sis- 
ter Diana.  "Well,"  he  said,  "if  you're  a  grand  lady,  don't 
forget  that  I'm  a  big  giant,  and  that  I've  got  a  belt  and  a 
sword.  There's  Simpson,  you  known ;  she's  rather  a  bother, 
and  I  can  run  my  sword  into  her,  if  you  really  wish  it, 
Diana." 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  answered  Diana.  "I  don't  want 
to  have  three  persons  deaded  wight  off;  it  might  be  sort 
of  troublesome.  I'll  think  what's  best  to  be  done  with 
Simpson.  Now,  let's  start  at  once." 

Mrs.  Dolman  was  under  the  supposition  that  the  chil- 
dren had  gone  to  play  in  the  back  garden.  The  greater 
part  of  that  somewhat  neglected  domain  was  laid  out  in 
shrubbery,  and  there  were  shady  trees  and  swings  and  see- 
saws, and  other  sources  of  amusement  for  the  little  Dol- 
mans during  their  brief  hours  of  play.  Miss  Eamsay  also 
thought  that  Diana  and  Orion  would  go  to  the  shrubbery. 
She  went  up,  therefore,  fo  the  schoolroom  quite  contented. 
Mr.  Dolman  retired  to  his  study,  where  he  went  to  sleep, 
and  Mrs.  Dolman  ordered  the  pony  chaise,  and  went  off 
to  see  a  distant  parishioner,  who  was  very  ill. 

The  house  was  wonderfully  quiet,  and  nothing  occurred 
to  disturb  Mr.  Dolman  in  his  deep  slumber.  The  manu- 
script pages  which  were  to  be  covered  by  his  neatly  writ- 
ten sermon  lay  in  virgin  purity  before  him.  In  his  sleep 
he  dreamt  of  little  Diana,  and  awoke  presently  with  a 
queer  sense  of  uneasiness  with  regard  to  her.  But  he  was 
by  nature  a  very  lazy  man,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to 


Diana's  Revenge.  169 

inquire  as  to  her  present  whereabouts.  "She's  a  fine  little 
soul,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  do  wish  Jane  had  not  taken 
such  a  dislike  to  her.  It  is  useless  to  drive  that  sort  of 
child;  she  must  be  led,  and  led  gently.  Ton  my  word, 
I  did  have  an  entertaining  morning  with  the  little  mite, 
and  what  a  lot  of  strawberries  she  made  me  eat!  I  won- 
der Jane  did  not  remark  at  dinner  how  poor  my  appetite 
was — I  was  dreadfully  afraid  she  would  do  so.  Certainly 
Jane  is  an  active  woman,  an  excellent  woman,  but  just  a 
little  bit  stern." 

Meanwhile  Diana,  holding  Orion  by  the  hand,  had 
started  running  up  the  long  avenue.  The  little  pair  soon 
reached  the  lodge  gates.  Diana  and  her  brother  went  out 
through  the  postern  door  which  was  at  the  side,  and  the 
next  moment  found  themselves  on  the  highroad.  This  road 
led  in  the  direction  of  the  shady  woods  where  Apollo  had 
hidden  the  bow  and  arrows  a  few  weeks  ago.  It  was  a 
pretty  road,  a  couple  of  miles  in  length,  and  well  shaded 
by  trees,  a  kind  of  outgrowth  of  the  forest  itself.  As  she 
was  not  likely  to  meet  any  of  the  Dolman  family  on  the 
road,  Diana  did  not  wear  her  sun-bonnet,  but  kept  it 
hanging  on  her  arm.  "It  is  nice  to  be  out,"  she  said,  as 
she  tripped  along.  "I  love  hot  sun;  I  love  twees;  I  love 
blue  sky ;  I  love  dust." 

"I  don't,"  replied  Orion;  "this  road  is  horrid  dusty, 
and  it  gets  into  my  shoes.  I  have  only  my  house  shoes 
on,  you  know,  Diana." 

"Oh,  never  mind  !'"'  answered  Diana.  "If  you  is  a  giant, 
you  isn't  going  to  g'umble.  What  is  the  use  of  grumbling  ? 
You  be  all  wight  soon.  We'll  be  in  the  wood  soon,  and 


170  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

we'll  have  got  the  bow  and  arrows,  and  then,  we'll  have  to 
pwactice  shooting.  Oh,  I  say,  there's  a  turnstile  and  a 
path,  and  I  believe  the  path  leads  stwaight  to  the  wood. 
Let's  leave  the  woad  and  go  to  the  wood  that  way." 

"All  right,"  replied  Orion.  He  always  did  say  "all 
right"  to  every  single  thing  Diana  asked  him  to  do. 

The  children  now  found  themselves  in  a  shady  lane,  be- 
tween high  hedgerows.  It  was  a  pretty  lane,  only  very 
sultry  at  this  time  of  day;  but  Diana,  seeing  butterflies 
flying  about,  began  to  give  chase  to  them.  She  also  stopped 
many  times  to  pick  flowers.  Orion  shouted  as  he  ran, 
and  neither  of  the  little  pair  minded,  for  a  time  at  least, 
the  fact  that  the  sun  was  pouring  on  their  heads,  and  that 
their  small  faces  were  getting  redder  and  redder. 

"I's  stweaming  down  with  hotness,"  said  Diana,  at 
last.  "I  must  stop  a  bit  or  I'll  melt  away.  I  don't  want 
to  melt  till  I  has  shotted  my  enemies.  Is  you  stweaming 
with  hotness,  Orion." 

"Yes,"  said  Orion. 

They  stood  still,  took  out  their  handkerchiefs,  mopped 
their  faces  vigorously,  and  then  continued  their  walk.  The 
time  seemed  to  drag  all  of  a  sudden;  they  were  both  very 
tired.  How  glad  they  were  when  they  finally  reached  the 
friendly  shelter  of  the  Super-Ashton  woods.  Here  it  was 
deliciously  cool,  and  here  Diana,  thoroughly  exhausted, 
threw  herself  on  her  face  and  hands,  and,  before  Orion 
could  say  a  word,  had  dropped  off  into  sound  sleep.  He 
thought  she  looked  very  comfortable,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  could  not  do  better  than  follow  her  example. 
Accordingly,  he  also  stretched  himself  on  the  ground,  and, 


Diana's  Revenge.  171 

with  his  head  resting  on  one  of  Diana's  fat  little  legs,  also 
visited  the  land  of  dreams.  For  two  hours  the  children 
slept.  When  they  awoke  at  last  they  found  that  the  sun 
was  no  longer  high  in  the  heavens ;  it  was  veering  rapidly 
towards  the  west,  and  was  sending  slanting  and  very  beau- 
tiful rays  of  light  through  the  wood.  Diana  rubbed  her 
eyes  and  looked  around  her. 

"I's  awfu'  hung'y,"  she  said.  "How  does  you  feel, 
Orion  ?" 

"My  tumtum's  empty,"  answered  Orion. 

"We'll  pick  berries  in  the  wood,"  said  Diana;  "that  '11 
sat'sfy  us.  Berries  is  wight  for  wunaway  sildrens.  Do 
you  'member  what  we  has  come  here  for,  Orion  ?" 

"To  amuse  ourselves,  I  suppose,"  replied  Orion. 

Diana  gave  him  an  angry  flash  from  her  black  eyes. 

"What  a  silly  little  boy  you  is !"  she  said.  "We  has  come 
for  most  solemn,  'portant  business.  I  is  Diana — the  gweat 
Diana  what  lived  years  and  years  ago — and  you  is  Orion. 
I  is  the  gweatest  huntwess  in  all  the  world,  and  I's  going 
to  shoot  Aunt  Jane  and  Miss  Wamsay.  Now,  come  'long, 
Orion,  and  let's  look  for  the  bow  and  arrow." 

The  children  searched  and  searched,  and  after  a  long 
time  did  actually  discover  the  crooked  and  badly  made 
bow  and  the  blunt  arrow. 

"Here  they  is,  the  darlin's !"  cried  Diana.  "My  own 
bow,  my  own  arrow — how  I  loves  'em !  Now,  Orion,  I  is 
going  to  shoot  you — for  pwactice,  you  know,  and  then  you 
shall  shoot  me  for  pwactice  too.  You  stand  up  there 
against  the  twee,  and  I'll  make  good  shots.  You  don't 
mind  if  I  does  hurt  you  a  bit,  does  you  ?" 


172  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  shotted  down  dead,"  replied 
Ojrion. 

"No,  I  won't  go  as  far  as  that.  It's  only  Aunt  Jane  and 
Miss  Wamsay  who  is  to  be  shotted  dead ;  but  you'll  have  to 
be  shotted,  'cos  I  must  pwactice  how  to  do  it." 

"But  couldn't  you  practice  against  the  tree  without  me 
standing  there?"  said  Orion,  who  had  no  fancy  to  have 
even  this  very  blunt  arrow  directed  at  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MOTHER    KODESIA. 

After  some  very  slight  persuasion  Diana  induced  Orion 
to  put  his  back  up  against  an  oak  tree  and  to  allow  her  to 
shoot  at  him.  He  quickly  discovered  that  he  had  little  or 
no  cause  for  fear.  Diana's  arrows,  wielded  with  all  the 
cunning  she  possessed,  from  the  crooked  bow,  nerer  went 
anywhere  near  him.  They  fell  on  the  grass  and  startled 
the  birds,  and  one  little  baby  rabbit  ran  quite  awaj,  and 
some  squirrels  looked  down  at  the  children  througk  the 
thick  trees ;  but  Orion  had  very  little  chance  of  'getting 
hurt. 

"It's  awfu'  difficult,"  said  Diana,  whose  face  grew  redder 
and  redder  with  her  efforts.  "If  it  don't  shoot  pwoper, 
Aunt  Jane  won't  get  shotted  to-night.  What  is  to  be  done  ? 
Suppose  you  was  to  twy  for  a  bit,  Orion?" 

Orion  was  only  too  anxious  to  accede  to  this  proposi-, 
tion.  He  took  the  bow  and  arrow  and  made  valiant  efforts, 
but  in  the  course  of  his  endeavors  to  shoot  properly,  the 
badly  made  bow  suddenly  snapped  in  two,  and  Diana,  in 
her  discomfiture,  and  the  dashing  to  the  ground  of  her 
hopes,  burst  into  tears. 

"You  is  bad  boy,"  she  cried.  "See  what  you's  done. 
173 


174  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Back  we  goes  to  slav'ry — to  Aunt  Jane  and  Miss  Wamsay. 
You  is  a  bad,  howid  boy." 

"I  aren't/'  said  Orion,  who  had  a  very  easily  aroused 
temper.  "If  s  you  that's  a  horrid  little  girl." 

"Come,  children;  what's  all  this  noise  about?"  said  a 
voice  in  their  ears. 

They  turned  abruptly,  forgetting  on  the  instant  their 
own  cause  of  quarrel,  and  saw  a  tall,  swarthy-looking 
woman  coming  towards  them.  By  this  time  it  was  begin- 
ning to  get  dark  in  the  wood,  but  they  could  see  the  figure 
of  the  woman  quite  distinctly.  She  came  close  to  them, 
and  then,  putting  her  arms  akimbo,  surveyed  them  both 
with  a  certain  queer  expression  on  her  face. 

"Well,  my  little  dears,"  she  said,  "and  what  may  you 
two  be  doing  in  this  part  of  the  wood?" 

"We  is  pweparing  to  have  our  enemies  shotted,"  an- 
swered Diana,  in  a  calm,  but  sturdy,  voice.  "What's  your 
name,  gweat  big  woman?" 

"Mother  Eodesia  Lee,"  replied  the  woman,  "and  I'm 
fond  of  little  children.  I  like  to  meet  them  in  the  wood. 
I  often  come  into  the  wood,  and  when  I  see  little  strange 
children  I  love  'em  at  once.  I'm  a  sort  of  mother  to  all 
little  strangers  who  get  into  the  woods  without  leave." 
Here  she  flashed  a  pair  of  black  eyes  full  into  Diana's  face. 
But  Diana  met  their  gaze  without  a  vestige  of  shrinking, 
with  eyes  as  black. 

"We  has  not  come  without  leave,"  she  said;  "you  is 
naughty  to  talk  that  way.  We  has  got  a  whole  holiday  to- 
day from  our  Uncle  William.  He  didn't  say  nothing  'bout 
not  going  into  the  woods,  and  we  has  been  here  for  lots 


Mother  Eodesia.  175 

of  hours.  We  is  going  home  now  'cos  we  is  hung'y,  and 
'cos  nay  bow  has  got  bwoke.  We  is  awfu'  unhappy — we  is 
mis'ble,  but  we  is  going  home.  Good-night,  woman;  don't 
keep  us  talkin'  any  longer." 

"I  ain't  going  to  keep  you,"  said  the  woman;  "only 
p'r'aps.  if  you  two  are  so  hungry,  p'r'aps  I  could  give  you 
a  bit  of  supper." 

"Oh,  yes,  Diana !    Do  let  her,"  said  Orion. 

"What  sort  of  supper  ?"  asked  Diana,  who  never  allowed 
herself  to  be  taken  unawares.  "Would  it  be  stwawberries 
and  k'eam,  or  would  it  be  cake  and  milk?" 

"Strawberries  and  cream,  and  milk  and  cake,  plenty 
and  plenty,"  said  the  woman.  "And  what  do  you  say  to 
delicious  soup  and  honey,  p'r'aps?  Oh,  come  along,  my 
little  loves;  I'll  give  you  something  fine  to  eat." 

"Do  let's  go,"  said  Orion;  "my  tumtum's  so  empty  it 
feels  like  a  big  hole." 

"I  know,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  very  sympathetic  voice. 
"I  have  had  it  myself  like  that  at  times.  It's  sort  of 
painful  when  it's  like  that ;  ain't  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Orion.  He  went  up  to  his  sister,  and 
took  her  hand.  "Come  along,  Di,"  he  said.  "Do  let 
this  nice  woman  give  us  our  supper." 

"You  may  be  sure  I  won't  give  it,"  said  the  woman, 
"unless  both  you  little  children  ask  me  in  a  very  perlite 
voice.  You  must  say,  'Please,  Mother  Eodesia.' " 

"I  can't  say  that  keer  sort  of  name,"  said  Diana. 
"Well,  then,  call  me  mother  without  anything  else.  They 
often  does  that  at  home — often  and  often.     All  the  little 


17fl  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

kids  is  desp'ate  fond  of  me.  I  dote  so  on  little  children. 
My  heart  runs  over  with  love  to  'em." 

"You  would  not  let  a  little  girl  be  heated  ?"  said  Diana. 

"Be  beaten  ?"  replied  the  woman.  "No,  that  I  wouldn't ; 
it  would  be  downright  cruel." 

"I  was  beated  to-day,"  said  Diana ;  "it  was  an  enemy  did 
it,  and  I'm  going  to  have  her  shotted." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  do  that !"  said  the  woman.  "You  might 
be  hanged  up  for  that." 

"What's  being  hanged  up  ?"  asked  Diana. 

"Ifs  something  very  bad — I  need  not  tell  you  now; 
but  there  are  laws  in  this  country,  and  if  you  shoot  your 
enemies  you  are  hanged  up  for  it.  You  are  not  allowed  to 
do  those  sort  of  things  in  this  country." 

"Yes,  I  are,"  answered  Diana,  "  'cos  I  are  the  gweat 
Diana.  You  understand,  don't  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  do;  but,  anyhow,  I  hare  no  time 
to  stand  talking  now.  Come  along,  and  you  can  tell  me 
afterwards.  I  have  got  such  a  nice  supper — plenty  of  straw- 
berries and  cream,  plenty  of  milk  and  cake." 

"Oh,  my  tumtum,"  said  Orion,  pressing  his  hand  to  that 
part  of  his  little  body  with  great  solemnity. 

"How  soon  will  the  supper  be  over?  and  how  soon  can 
we  get  back  home?"  asked  Diana. 

"That  depends  on  where  your  home  is,  mj  pretty  little 
dear,"  said  Mother  Eodesia. 

"It's  at  Wectory,  stoopid  woman." 

"I  don't  know  that  place,  miss." 

"Don't  you  know  my  Uncle  William  Dolman?" 

"What  J  the  rector  ?"  said  the  woman.    'And  so  you  come 


Mother  Rodesia.  177 

from  the  Rectory  f"  She  looked  frightened  for  a  moment, 
and  her  manner  became  hesitating.  "Are  you  one  of  the 
rector's  children,  my  little  love  ?"  she  asked. 

"No ;  he's  only  an  uncle ;  he  belongs  to  an  aunt.  I  hate 
aunts.  He's  not  a  bad  sort  his  own  self ;  but  I  hate  aunts !" 

"Then  you  wouldn't  mind  if  you  was  to  leave  her  ?" 

"No.  But  I  can't  leave  Uncle  William,  and  I  can't 
leave  Iris,  and  I  can't  leave  Apollo.  We  would  like  some 
supper  'cos  we  is  hung'y,  and  it's  past  our  tea  hour;  but 
then  we  must  go  stwaight  home." 

"All  right,  my  little  love;  everything  can  be  managed 
to  your  satisfaction.  My  son  has  got  a  pony  and  a  cart, 
and  he'll  drive  you  over  to  the  Kectory  in  a  twinkling, 
after  your  appetites  are  satisfied.  I  can't  abear  to  see  lit- 
tle children  real  hungry.  You  come  along  with  me  this 
minute  or  the  supper  will  be  eat  up." 

Diana  hesitated  no  longer.  She  carried  her  broken  bow 
on  one  arm,  and  she  slung  her  arrow,  by  a  string,  round 
her  neck ;  then,  taking  one  of  Mother  Rodesia's  large  brown 
hands,  and  Orion  taking  the  other,  the  two  children  trotted 
deeper  into  the  dark  wood.  They  all  three  walked  for 
over  a  mile,  and  the  wood  seemed  to  get  darker  and  denser, 
and  the  children's  little  feet  more  and  more  tired.  Orion 
also  began  to  complain  that  the  hole  inside  him  was  get- 
ting bigger  and  bigger;  but  Mother  Rodesia,  now  that  she 
had  got  them  to  go  with  her,  said  very  few  words,  and 
did  not  take  the  least  notice  of  their  complaints.  At  last, 
when  they  suddenly  felt  that  they  could  not  go  another 
step,  so  great  was  their  fatigue,  the)'  came  out  on  an  open 
clearing  in  the  wood,  in  the  center  of  which  a  great  big 


178  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

tent  was  pitched.  Several  smaller  tents  were  also  to  be 
seen  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  big  one,  and  a  lot  of 
children,  very  brown  and  ugly,  and  only  half-dressed,  were 
lying  about  on  the  grass,  squabbling  and  rolling  over  one 
another.  Some  dogs  also  were  with  the  children,  and  an 
old  woman,  a  good  deal  browner  than  Mother  Eodesia, 
was  sitting  at  the  door  of  the  big  tent. 

As  soon  as  ever  the  children  saw  the  little  strangers, 
they  scrambled  to  their  feet  with  a  cry,  and  instantly  sur- 
rounded Mother  Eodesia  and  Orion  and  Diana. 

"Back,  all  of  you,  you  little  rascallions,"  said  Mother 
Rodesia;  "back,  or  I'll  cuff  you.  Where's  Mother  Bridget? 
I  want  to  speak  to  her." 

When  Mother  Eodesia  said  this  the  old  woman  at  the 
door  of  the  principal  tent  rose  slowly  and  came  to  meet 
them. 

"Well,  Eodesia/'  she  said,  "and  so  you  has  found  these 
little  strangers  in  the  wood  ?  What  purty  little  dears  !" 

"Yes,  I  have  found  them,"  said  Mother  Bodesia,  "and 
I  have  brought  them  home  to  supper.  After  supper  we 
are  to  send  them  home.  They  hail  from  the  Eectory.  Is 
Jack  anywhere  about?" 

"I  saw  him  not  half  an  hour  back,"  said  the  old  woman ; 
"he  had  just  brought  in  a  fat  hare,  and  I  popped  it  into 
the  pot  for  supper.  You  can  smell  it  from  here,  little  mas- 
ter," she  said,  stooping  suddenly  down  and  letting  her 
brown,  wrinkled,  aged  face  come  within  an  inch  or  two  of 
Orion's.  He  started  back,  frightened.  He  had  never  seen 
anyone  so  old  nor  so  ugly  before.  Even  the  thought  of  the 


Mother  Eodesia.  179 

strawberries  and  cream,  and  the  milk  and  cake,  could  not 
compensate  for  the  look  on  Mother  Bridget's  face. 

Diana,  however,  was  not  easily  alarmed. 

"The  stuff  in  the  pot  smells  vedy  good/'  she  said,  snif- 
fing. "I  could  shoot  lots  of  hares,  'cos  I  is  the  gweatest 
huntwess  in  all  the  world.  I  is  Diana.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  Diana,  ugly  old  woman?" 

"You  had  best  not  call  Mother  Bridget  names,"  said 
Mother  Eodesia,  giving  Diana  a  violent  shake  as  she 
spoke. 

But  the  little  girl  leaped  lightly  away  from  her. 

"I  always  call  peoples  just  what  I  think  them,"  she 
said;  "I  wouldn't  be  the  gweat  Diana  if  I  didn't.  I  has 
not  got  one  scwap  of  fear  in  me,  so  you  needn't  think  to 
come  wound  me  that  way.  I  do  think  she  is  awfu'  ugly. 
She's  uglier  than  Aunt  Jane,  what  I  used  to  think  was 
the  ugliest  person  in  the  world.  You  had  best  not  twy  to 
frighten  me,  for  it  can't  be  done." 

"What  a  spirited  little  missy  it  is !"  said  Mother  Bridget, 
gazing  with  admiration  at  Diana.  "Why,  now,  she  is  a 
fine  little  child.  I'm  sure,  dearie,  I  don't  mind  whether 
you  call  me  ugly  or  not;  it  don't  matter  the  least  bit  in 
the  world  to  me.  And  how  old  may  you  be,  my  little  love." 

"I  is  five,"  answered  Diana.  "I's  a  well-grown  girl, 
isn't  I?" 

"That  you  are,  missy,  and  hungry,  too,  I  guess.  You 
shall  have  some  beautiful  hare  soup." 

"I  don't  want  hare  soup,"  answered  Diana ;  "I  want  what 
that  woman  pwomised — stwawberries  and  k'eam,  and  milk 


180  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

and  cake — and  then,  perhaps,  a  little  soup.  I  don't  want 
soup  to  begin." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "we  hasn't  got  no  straw- 
berries, nor  no  milk,  nor  no  cake — we  are  very  poor  folks 
here,  missy.  A  little  lady  must  be  content  with  what 
she  can  get,  unless,  my  dear,  you  would  like  to  pay  'and- 
some  for  it." 

"I  has  nothing  to  pay  with,"  answered  Diana.  "I  would, 
if  I  had  the  money,  but  I  hasn't  got  none.  I's  sossy,"  she 
continued,  looking  full  at  Mother  Bodesia  as  she  spoke, 
"that  you  big,  big  woman  told  such  awfu'  lies.  But,  now 
that  we  has  come,  we'll  take  a  little  hare  soup.  Orion, 
you  stand  near  me,  and  don't  any  of  you  dirty  peoples 
come  up  too  close,  'cos  I  can't  abear  dirty  peoples.  I  is 
the  gweatest  shot  in  all  the  world,  and  Orion,  he'a  a  giant." 

Two  or  three  men  had  approached  at  that  moment,  and 
they  all  began  to  laugh  heartily  when  poor  little  pale  Orion 
was  called  a  giant. 

"You  can  see  him  in  the  sky  sometimes  on  starful 
nights,"  continued  Diana,  "and  he  has  got  a  belt  and  a 
sword.5' 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  poor  little  thing,"  said  Mother  Eo- 
desia,  "she  must  be  a  bit  off  her  head,  but  she's  a  fine  little 
spirited  thing  for  all  that.  I  think  she  would  just  about 
do.  You  come  along  here  for  a  minute,  Jack,  and  let 
me  talk  to  you." 

The  man  called  Jack  moved  a  few  steps  away,  and 
Mother  Eodesia  followed  him.  They  began  to  talk  to- 
gether in  low  and  earnest  voices.  At  first  the  man  shook 
his  head  as  he  listened  to  Mother  Eodesia,  but  by  degrees 


Mother  Rodesia.  181 

he  began  to  agree  with  some  suggestion  she  was  making, 
and  finallj  he  nodded  emphatically,  and  at  last  was  heard 
to  say: 

"It  shall  be  done." 

Meanwhile  Diana,  with  one  arm  clasped  protectingly 
round  Orion's  waist,  was  partaking  of  the  soup  which  old 
Mother  Bridget  had  ladled  into  a  little  bowl.  Orion  was 
provided  with  a  similar  bowl  of  the  very  excellent  liquid. 
The  soup  contained  meat  and  vegetables,  pieces  of  bread 
and  quantities  of  good  gravy,  and,  as  Diana  and  Orion 
were  very  hungry  indeed,  they  ate  up  their  portions,  while 
the  gypsy  children  clustered  round  them,  coming  closer 
and  closer  each  minute.  Diana's  eyes,  however,  were  as 
black  as  theirs,  and  her  manner  twice  as  spirited.  She 
would  not  allow  them  to  approach  too  close. 

"You  had  best  not  take  lib'ties,"  she  said.  "I  is  gweat 
lady;  I  is  Diana,  the  biggest  shot  in  all  the  world." 

"Oh,  lawk !  hark  to  her,"  cried  one  of  the  boys.  "I  won- 
der if  you  could  shoot  me,  little  miss?" 

"Shoot  you,  boy  ?"  cried  Diana.  "That  I  could.  You 
would  be  shotted  down  dead  if  I  was  to  take  up  my  bow 
and  use  my  arrow." 

At  laet  the  children  had  finished  the  contents  of  their 
bowls,  and  rose  solemnly  to  their  feet. 

"Now,"  eaid  Diana,  going  up  to  Mother  Bridget,  "I  are 
vedy  obliged  to  you ;  you  has  been  kind ;  you  has  gived  us 
good  supper.  We'll  'scuse  'bout  the  stwawberries  and 
k'eam  and  the  milk  and  cake,  'cos  you  didn't  know  that 
the  other  big  woman  told  lots  of  lies.  And  now,  p'ease,  we 
are  going  home.  We  isn't  glad  to  go  home,  but  we  is 


182  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

going.    P'ease  tell  the  man  to  put  pony  to  cart,  and  dwive 
us  home  as  fast  as  he  can." 

"Yes,  indeed,  my  little  dear,"  said  Mother  Bridget; 
"there  aint  one  moment  to  be  lost.  You  just  come  inside 
the  tent,  though,  first  for  a  minute." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  inside  that  dirty  tent,"  said  Diana ; 
"I  don't  like  dirt.  You  had  best  not  twy  to  take  lib'ties. 
I  is  Diana,  and  this  is  Orion,  and  we  is  both  very  big 
peoples  indeed." 

At  that  moment  Mother  Eodesia  came  forward. 
"They  need  not  go  into  the  tent,"  she  said  to  the  old 
woman;  "1  can  manage  better  than  that.     Just  you  help 
lift  'em  into  the  cart;  it's  a  dark  night,  and  there'll  be 

no  stars,  and  we  can  get  off  as  far  as "     Here  she 

dropped  her  voice,  and  Diana  could  not  hear  the  next 
words. 

"I'm  going  with  them,"  she  continued,  "and  Jack  will 
drive.  They  are  exactly  the  kind  of  children  Ben  wants. 
Now  then,  little  missy,  jump  in.  Ah,  here  you  are !  You'll 
be  glad  of  the  drive,  won't  you  ?" 

"When  will  we  get  back  to  Wectory?"  asked  Diana. 

"In  about  an  hour,  missy." 

"Come  'long,  Orion,"  said  Diana,  "you  sit  next  me. 
Hold  my  hand,  poor  little  boy,  case  you  is  fwightened. 
Diana  never  was  fwightened;  that  isn't  her." 

Orion  scrambled  also  into  the  cart,  and  the  two  children 
huddled  up  close  together.  Mother  Eodesia  got  in  with 
them,  and  sat  down  at  the  opposite  side,  with  her  knees 
huddled  up  close  to  her  chin.  The  man  called  Jack  mount- 


Mother  Rodesia.  183 

ed  the  driver's  seat,  whacked  the  pony  with  two  or  three 
hard  touches  of  his  whip  and  away  they  bounded. 

The  night  was  very  dark,  and  the  cart  rattled  roughly, 
and  jolted  and  banged  the  children  about,  but  Orion  felt 
comforted  and  contented  after  his  good  supper,  and  Diana's 
fat  little  arm  felt  warm  round  his  neck,  and  soon  his 
head  rested  on  her  shoulder  and  he  was  sound  asleep.  Not 
so  little  Diana.  She  sat  wide  awake  and  gazed  hard  at 
the  woman,  whose  dark  eyes  were  seen  to  flash  now  and 
then  as  the  party  jolted  over  the  roads. 

"Tell  him  to  go  k'icker,"  said  Diana.  "I  must  get  home 
afore  Uncle  William  goes  to  bed.  Aunt  Jane  might  beat 
me  again,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  heated.  Tell  him  to 
go  k'icker,  Mother  'Odesia." 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

UNCLE    BEN. 

Mother  Eodesia  was  most  kind  and  obliging.  The 
pony  was  whipped  up,  and  now  it  seemed  to  Diana's  ex- 
cited fancy  that  they  quite  flew  over  the  road.  She  felt 
for  her  broken  bow,  which  she  had  laid  by  her  side,  then 
she  cuddled  up  closer  to  Orion,  and  whispered  to  herself: 

"Mother  'Odesia's  a  good  woman  when  all's  said,  done. 
She  has  gived  us  supper  and  soon  we'll  be  home;  and 
Uncle  William  won't  be  in  bed,  and  he  won't  let  c'uel 
Aunt  Jane  beat  me.  It's  all  wight;  I  may  just  as  well 
go  to  s'eep,  'cos  I  is  drefful  s'eepy,  and  it's  late.  I  wonder 
if  the  night  will  be  starful,  and  if  I'll  see  Orion  up  in  the 
sky.  Anyhow,  there's  no  stars  at  pwesent,  and  I  had  best 
go  to  s'eep." 

So  the  little  girl  cuddled  herself  up  close  to  her  brother, 
and  soon  the  big  dark  eyes  were  shut,  and  she  was  happy 
in  the  land  of  dreams. 

When  this  happened,  Mother  Rodesia  softly  and  stealth- 
ily changed  her  position.  She  stretched  out  her  hand  and 
touched  Jack  on  his  arm.  This  seemed  to  have  been  an 
arranged  signal,  for  he  drew  up  the  pony  at  once. 

They  were  still  under  the  shelter  of  the  great  woods 
which  extended  for  miles  over  that  part  of  the  country. 
184 


Uncle  Ben.  185 

"We  had  best  begin  to  change  their  clothes  now/'  said 
Mother  Eodeaia.  "They  are  both  as  sound  as  nails,  and  I 
don't  want  the  clothes  to  be  seen  by  Ben,  for  he's  safe  to 
pawn  'em,  and  if  he  pawns  'em  the  police  may  get  'em, 
and  then  the  children  may  be  traced  and  we  may  get  into 
hot  water." 

"But,  mother,"  said  Jack,  "do  you  dare  to  disturb  them 
now  when  they  are  asleep  ?  That  young  'un  with  the  black 
eyes  is  such  a  fury;  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  was  never 
goin'  off." 

"She's  all  right  now,"  said  Mother  Bodesia.  "She's  just 
dead  tired.  Of  course,  if  I  had  had  my  way,  I'd  have  put 
a  little  of  that  syrup  into  their  soup — Mother  Winslow's 
Syrup — but  Mother  Bridget  wouldn't  have  it.  She  took 
quite  a  fancy  to  the  little  gal,  and  all  on  account  of  her 
firing  up  and  calling  her  names." 

Jack  laughed. 

"I  never  seed  sech  a  little  'un,"  he  said,  "sech  a  sparky 
little  piece.  Ben's  in  rare  luck.  I'd  like  to  keep  her  for 
a  sort  of  little  sister  of  my  own — she'd  amuse  me  fine." 

"Well,  well,  you  aint  a-goin'  to  have  her,"  said  Mother 
Eodesia.  "I'm  going  to  ask  thirty  shillin's  for  her  and 
thirty  shillin'a  for  the  boy.  That  '11  be  three  pund — not 
a  bad  night's  work,  eh,  Jack?" 

"No"  replied  Jack ;  but  then  he  continued  after  a  pause, 
"You'll  tell  him,  won't  you,  mother,  to  be  good  to  the 
children.  I  wouldn't  like  to  think  that  little  'un  was  treat- 
ed cruel,  and  her  sperit  broke — she  has  got  a  fine  sperit, 
bless  her;  I  wouldn't  like  it  to  be  broke.  I  don't  care  for 
the  little  boy.  There's  nothing  in  'im." 


186  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Well,  stop  talking  now/'  said  Mother  Eodesia.  "They 
must  be  missed  at  the  Kectory  by  this  time,  and  they'll 
be  sendin'  people  out  to  look  for  'em.  It's  a  rare  stroke 
of  luck  that  nobody  knows  that  we  are  camping  in  the 
Fairy  Dell,  for  if  they  did  they  would  be  sure  to  come 
straight  to  us,  knowin'  that  poor  gypsies  is  always  sup- 
posed to  kidnap  children.  Now,  Jack,  you  just  hold  the 
pony  as  still  as  you  can,  and  I'll  slip  the  clothes  off  the 
pair  of  'em." 

Little  Diana,  in  her  deep  sleep,  was  not  at  all  disturbed 
when  stout  hands  lifted  her  away  from  Orion,  and  when 
she  lay  stretched  out  flat  on  a  large  lap.  One  by  one  her 
clothes  were  untied  and  slipped  off  her  pretty  little  body, 
and  some  very  ugly,  sack-like  garments  substituted  in  their 
place.  Diana  had  only  a  dim  feeling  in  her  dreams  that 
mother  was  back  again,  and  was  undressing  her,  and  that 
she  was  very  glad  to  get  into  bed.  And  when  the  same 
process  of  undressing  took  place  on  little  Orion,  he  was 
still  sounder  asleep  and  still  more  indifferent  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  turned  sometimes  over  on  his  face,  and  some- 
times on  his  back,  and  that  his  pretty,  dainty  clothes, 
which  his  own  mother  had  bought  for  him,  were  removed, 
never  to  be  worn  by  him  again. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Mother  Eodesia,  when  she  had  laid 
the  two  children  back  again  upon  the  straw,  "when  they 
awake,  and  if  Ben  is  not  there,  we  must  dye  their  faces 
with  walnut  juice;  but  we  can't  begin  that  now,  for  they 
are  sure  to  howl  a  good  bit,  and  if  folks  are  near,  they 
will  hear  them  and  come  to  the  rescue.  Jack,  have  you 
got  that  spade  'andy?" 


Uncle  Ben.  187 

The  man,  without  a  word,  lifted  a  portion  of  the  straw 
in  the  cart,  and  took  out  a  spade. 

"That's  right,"  said  the  woman.  "You  make  a  deep 
hole  under  that  tree,  and  put  all  the  clothqs  in.  Bury  'em 
well.  I'll  rescue  'em  and  pawn  'em  myself  when  we  go  to 
the  West  of  England  in  the  winter,  but  for  the  present 
they  must  stay  under  ground.  See,  I'll  wrap  'em  up  in 
this  good  piece  of  stout  brown  paper,  and  then  perhaps 
they  won't  get  much  spoiled." 

Jack  took  the  little  bundle  (there  were  the  soft,  pretty 
socks,  the  neat  little  shoes,  even  the  ribbon  with  which 
Diana's  hair  was  tied),  and  twisted  them  all  up  into  a 
bundle.  Then  his  mother  wrapped  the  bundle  in  the  piece 
of  brown  paper,  and  gave  it  to  him  to  bury. 

This  being  done  the  pony  was  once  more  whipped  up, 
and  the  cart  proceeded  at  a  rapid  rate.  They  were  now 
on  the  highroad,  and  going  in  the  direction  of  a  large 
town.  The  town  was  called  Maplehurst.  It  was  fifteen 
miles  away  from  the  Rectory  of  Super-Ashton. 

Little  Diana  slept  on  and  on,  and  the  sun  was  beginning 
to  send  faint  rays  of  light  into  the  eastern  sky,  when  at 
last  she  opened  her  eyes. 

"Where  is  I  ?"  she  said  with  a  gasp. 

"With  me,  my  little  dear;  you  are  as  safe  as  child  can 
be,"  said  Mother  Eodesia.  "Don't  you  stir,  my  love;  you 
are  just  as  good  as  you  was  in  your  little  bed.  See,  let  me 
lay  this  rug  over  you." 

She  threw  a  piece  of  heavy  tarpaulin,  lined  with  cloth, 
over  the  child  as  she  spoke. 

Diana  yawned  in  a  comfortable  manner. 


188  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Isn't  we  at  Wectory  yet?"  she  asked. 

"No,  dear;  the  pony  went  lame,  and  we  had  to  stop  for 
a  good  bit  on  the  road ;  but  if  you  like  to  go  to  sleep  again, 
you'll  be  there  when  next  you  wake/' 

"I  isn't  s'eepy  any  longer,"  said  Diana,  Bitting  bolt  up- 
right in  the  cart.  "Oh,  what  a  funny  dwess  I  has  on. 
Where  is  my  nice  b'ack  dwess,  and  my  pinafore,  and  my 
shoes  and  socks  ?" 

"Well,  dear,"  said  Mother  Kodesia,  "you  were  so  dead 
asleep,  and  the  pony  got  that  lame  we  couldn't  stir  hand 
nor  foot,  so  I  thought  it  best  to  put  a  little  nightdress  on 
you." 

"But  what  a  funny  one,"  said  Diana,  gazing  with  curi- 
ous admiration  at  the  stout,  sack-like  garment. 

"It's  the  best  poor  Mother  Kodesia  has,  my  dear.  I'm 
awful  poor,  you  know." 

"Is  you?"  asked  Diana. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"And  does  you  mind?"  asked  Diana. 

"Yes,  dear;  'cos  when  people  are  poor  they  can't  get 
bread  to  eat,  and  then  they  can't  get  nice  clothes  like 
you,  little  missy.  You  are  a  very  rich  little  gal;  ain't 
you,  little  dear?" 

"My  favor's  awfu'  rich,"  said  Diana.  "We  used  to  live 
in  a  most  beaut'ful  house,  and  we  had  a  beaut'ful  garding 
to  play  in.  We  had  animals  there — lots  and  lots.  Woman, 
is  you  fond  of  animals — mices  and  that  sort?" 

"Love — I  just  adores  'em." 

"Then  you  is  a  nice  sort,"  answered  Diana.  She  left  her 
place  by  Orion  and  crept  up  close  to  the  woman. 


Uncle  Ben.  189 

"May  I  sit  on  your  lap  ?"  she  said. 

Mother  Eodesia  made  a  place  for  her  at  once. 

"Put  your  arm  wound  me,  p'ease;  I  is  still  a  teeny 
bit  s'eepy." 

"You  lay  your  head  against  my  breast,  little  lore,  and 
you'll  go  off  into  a  beautiful  sleep,  and  I'll  keep  you  nice 
and  warm,  for  hot  as  the  days  are,  if s  chilly  in  the 
mornin's." 

"When  my  faver  comes  home  I'll  ask  him  to  give  you 
lots  of  money,  Mother  'Odesia,"  said  Diana. 

She  closed  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  in  another  moment 
was  once  again  slumbering  peacefully. 

When  little  Diana  next  opened  her  eyes  all  was  com- 
pletely changed.  She  was  no  longer  in  the  funny  cart 
with  the  straw.  Her  nightdress  was  still  on  her,  it  is 
true,  and  there  were  neither  shoes  nor  stockings  on  her 
bare  feet;  but  she  and  Orion  found  themselves  in  a  dirty 
room  with  a  nasty  smell.  Both  children  looked  at  one 
another,  and  both  felt  cold  and  frightened.  The  broad 
daylight  was  lighting  up  the  room,  and  Diana  could  per- 
ceive that  there  was  scarcely  any  furniture  in  it.  Her 
bow  was  also  gone,  and  her  arrow  no  longer  hung  round 
her  neck.  She  clutched  a  firm  hold  of  Orion's  hand. 

"Don't  you  be  afeared,  Orion,"  she  said.  "Don't  you 
forget  yoii  is  a  big  giant.  Don't  you  forget  you  has  got 
your  belt  and  your  sword." 

"But  I  haven't,  that* s  just  it,"  replied  Orion.  "Diana, 
I  aren't  a  giant,  and  I'm  awfu'  frightened." 

"Where  can  us  be?"  said  Diana.    "What  a  keer  room! 


190  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

But  there's  one  good  comfort;  there  isn't  no  aunts  any- 
wheres 'bout." 

"I  can't  remember  nothing,"  said  Orion.  "Why  aren't 
we  in  bed  ?  It's  too  early  to  get  up.  How  have  we  got  into 
this  horrid  little  room?" 

"I  don't  know  more  nor  you,"  said  Diana,  "only  I  do 
know  that  we  has  got  to  be  bwave.  Don't  you  forget, 
Orion,  that  mother  gived  you  your  name,  and  that  you  is  a 
giant,  whether  you  likes  it  or  not.  Don't  you  forget  that, 
and  I  won't  forget  that  I  is  Diana,  and  that  mother  gived 
me  my  name  too,  and  that  I  is  the  bwavest  huntwess  in  all 
the  world." 

"But  you  haven't  got  a  bow  and  arrow,"  said  Orion. 
Diana  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Anyhow,"  she  said,  with  a  little  shake,  "I  isn't  going  to 
be  fwightened.  Let's  sit  close  together,  and  let's  think." 

"Why  can't  we  open  that  door  and  go  out  ?"  said  Orion. 
"Why  should  we  stay  in  this  horrid  room  ?" 

"'Cos  our  foots  is  bare,"  said  Diana. 

"But  don't  let's  mind  that,"  said  Orion ;  "let's  go  to  the 
door  and  open  it,  and  lef  s  run  back  to  Rectory.  I'd  rather 
have  Aunt  Jane  and  Miss  Eamsay  than  this  horrid  room 
— and  oh,  Diana !  my  tumtum  has  got  a  big  hole  in  it 
again." 

"And  mine  has  too,"  answered  Diana.  "I  could  eat  a 
whole  loaf,  that  I  could." 

"Hush !"  whispered  Orion ;  "somebody's  coming.  Oh, 
come  close  to  me,  Diana !" 

"Now,  you  isn't  to  be  fwightened,  little  boy,"  said  Diana. 
"I  is  near  you,  and  I  isn't  fwightened  of  nobody." 


Uncle  Ben.  191 

At  that  moment  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  Mother 
Eodesia,  accompanied  by  a  tall,  dark  man,  with  a  scowling 
face,  came  in. 

"Mornin',  little  dears/'  said  Mother  Eodesia.  "Now  I 
have  got  something  to  say  to  you." 

"P'ease,  where's  Wectory  ?"  asked  Diana. 

"You  are  not  going  there  just  for  the  present,  my  dear. 
This  man,  Ben  is  his  name — you  told  me  last  night  that 
you  were  fond  of  uncles — you  can  call  'im  Uncle  Ben ;  he's 
very  kind  and  very,  very  fond  of  children." 

"Oh,  yes!  I'm  very  fond  of  children,"  said  the  man. 
He  spoke  in  a  gruff  voice  which  seemed  to  come  right  from 
the  bottom  of  his  chest. 

"And  as  you  don't  like  aunts,"  continued  Mother  Eo- 
desia, "I  have  brought  an  uncle.  You  can  call  'im  Uncle 
Ben;  and  if  you  do  just  what  he  says,  why,  you'll  be  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long." 

"Look  here,"  said  the  man;  "you  stop  your  talk,  Eo- 
desia. Before  I  makes  myself  an  uncle  to  these  kids  I 
must  see  what  sort  they  are.  You  stand  up  along  here, 
little  gal,  and  let  me  examine  you." 

Diana  scrambled  instantly  to  her  feet  and  went  straight 
up  to  the  man.  She  gave  him  a  keen  glance  from  her 
piercing  black  eyes. 

"What  wight  has  you  to  speak  to  me  in  that  sort  of 
style?"  she  said.  "You  isn't  my  uncle,  and  I  isn't  going 
to  have  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"There,"  said  Mother  Eodesia;  "did  I  say  one  word  too 
much  for  her?" 

The  man  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 


192  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"No,  that  you  didn't,"  he  said;  "and  ain't  you  fright- 
ened of  me,  missy?" 

"Fwightened?"  replied  Diana;  "that  aren't  me."  She 
turned  her  back  and  strode  back  to  Orion. 

"  'Member  you  is  a  giant,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper ;  "and 
giants  never  is  fwightened." 

The  man  laughed  again. 

"Well,  they  are  a  queer  little  pair,"  he  said.  "I  tell  you 
what  it  is,  Eodesia  Lee;  I'll  give  you  a  pund  apiece  for 
'em.  Come,  now ;  not  a  penny  more." 

Diana  Btared  very  hard  indeed  when  these  words  were 
uttered.  She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what  a  "pund 
apiece"  meant.  Mother  Bodesia  seemed  to  consider. 

"And  you  may  think  yourself  in  rare  luck,"  continued 

the  man;  "for,  remember,  if  it  is  known "  Here  he 

walked  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  room,  and  Mother  Eodesia 
followed  him. 

"You  had  best  close  up  the  bargain  and  be  quick  about 
it,"  he  said;  "for  not  one  penny  more  will  you  drag  out 
of  me.  I'll  give  you  a  gold  sov.  for  each  of  'em,  and  that's 
as  much  as  I  can  manage.  They  will  take  a  sight  of  train- 
ing, and  then  there's  the  risk." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mother  Eodesia,  "I  suppose  I  had  best 
do  it;  only  they  are  worth  more.  There's  a  fortune  in  that 
little  gal,  and  whenever  you  are  tired  of  her,  why,  there's 
a  rich  father  to  fall  back  on.  I  'spect  he  would  give  a  sight 
of  money  to  have  her  back  again.  Very  well,  we'll  agree; 
only  if  ever  you  do  get  a  fortune  out  of  thai  child,  Ben 
Holt,  you  might  remember  poor  Eodesia  Lee." 

The  man  laughed  and  patted  Mother  Eodesia  on  her 


Uncle  Ben.  193 

shoulder.  Then  the  pair  left  the  room,  locking  the  door 
behind  them. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  said  Orion. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Diana;  '*but  I  aren't  fwightened; 
that  aren't  me."  Her  little  voice  shook  as  she  spoke,  and 
she  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  the  tears  back  from 
her  big,  black  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

GEEASED  LIGHTNING. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  door  of  the  email  room 
was  again  unlocked,  and  a  woman  with  a  thin,  pale  face, 
and  somewhat  frightened  manner,  appeared.  She  carried 
a  tray  in  her  hand,  which  contained  two  little  bowls  of 
porridge,  and  a  small  jug  of  milk.  "So  you  are  the  two 
young  ?uns,"  she  said.  "Well,  you  had  best  be  quick  and 
eat  up  your  breakfast.  Uncle  Ben  is  going  to  have  a  re- 
hearsal, and  he  wants  you  to  see  what  they  are  all  doing." 

"We  hasn't  got  no  Uncle  Ben,"  said  Diana;  "don't  be 
silly,  woman.  What's  your  name?"  she  added. 

"I'm  generally  called  Aunt  Sarah,"  was  the  reply;  "and 
now,  look  here,  you  two  little  mites;  I'll  be  good  to  you  if 
you'll  let  me.  I'm  real  sorry  you  has  come,  and  it's  against 
my  wish,  you  remember  that.  Now,  eat  up  your  break- 
fasts, both  of  you.  Uncle  Ben,  he  don't  know  that  I  have 
brought  you  porridge  and  milk;  but  children  as  young  as 
you  are  can't  eat  coarse  food.  Sup  up  your  porridge,  my 
dears." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed,  Aunt  Sawah,"  said  Diana, 

slipping  down  from  her  seat  close  to  Orion  on  the  bench, 

and  preparing  to  attack  her  breakfast.     "P'w'aps,"  she 

continued,  as  she  put  great  mouthfuls  of  porridge  into  her 

194 


Greased  Lightning.  195 

mouth,  "when  we  has  finished  this  nice  bekfus  you'll  take 
us  back  to  Wectory?  You  see,  you  isn't  our  aunt  weally, 
not  by  ne  manner  of  wights,  and  Uncle  Ben  isn't  our 
uncle,  and  BO  we  ought  not  to  stay  here ;  and  if  we  go  back 
to  Wectory,  why,  Uncle  William,  what's  our  weal  uncle, 
p'w'aps  he  would  pay  you  money,  if  it's  money  you  wants." 

"Yes;  it's  true  enough,  it  is  money  we  want,"  replied 
the  woman;  "but,  my  dear,"  she  added,  the  tears  spring- 
ing to  her  eyes,  "I  can't  take  you  back  to  no  Rectory.  You 
have  just  got  to  stay  here  and  to  watch  Uncle  Ben  when 
he's  going  through  his  rehearsal,  and  then  this  afternoon 
we  are  going  on  a  very  long  journey,  and  you  are  coming 
with  us — and  oh,  I  forgot  to  say  that,  when  you  have  fin- 
ished your  breakfast,  I  must  put  something  on  your  faces." 

"Something  on  our  faces?"  said  Diana. 

"Yes,  my  little  love;  it  has  to  be  done.  But  when  we 
get  to  another  part  of  the  country  I'll  wash  the  ugly  stuff 
off  again,  and  you'll  look  as  fair  and  pretty  as  you  do  now. 
It  won't  make  much  difference  after  all  to  you,  little 
missy/'  ehe  added,  gazing  fixedly  at  Diana,  "  'cos  you  are 
very  dark  by  nature.  Yes,  I  had  a  little  kid  of  my  own,  a 
little  gal,  and  she  wasn't  unlike  you — no,  not  by  no  means. 
I'll  be  kind  to  you  for  her  pretty  sake,  my  little  dear. 
Now,  eat  your  breakfast,  and  be  quick,  the  pair  of  you." 

"Has  your  little  girl  what  was  like  me  got  deaded?" 
asked  Diana,  in  a  very  thoughtful  and  earnest  voice. 

"She  K  dead,  my  dear.  Yes,  yes,  she  is  dead,"  replied 
the  woman.  "Eat  up  your  breakfast  now;  I  have  no  time 
to  answer  questions." 


196  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Orion  did  not  need  a  second  bidding;  he  had  already 
plunged  his  spoon  into  the  porridge,  and  soon  his  little 
bowl  was  empty,  and  also  the  jug  of  milk.  Diana  also  fin- 
ished her  breakfast,  but  more  thoughtfully.  She  was  a 
wonderfully  wise  little  girl  for  her  tender  years,  and  at 
the  present  moment  she  was  dreadfully  puzzled  to  know 
what  to  do.  She  was  quite  shrewd  enough  to  guess  that 
Mother  Kodesia  was  a  bad  sort  of  woman,  and  that  she, 
Diana,  had  done  wrong  ever  to  trust  herself  to  her.  Uncle 
Ben,  too,  in  spite  of  her  brave  words,  terrified  her  more  or 
less.  All  things  considered,  therefore,  she  would  not  have 
been  at  all  sorry  to  find  herself  back  again  at  the  Eectory, 
with  Miss  Earnsay  to  teach  her,  and  Aunt  Jane  hovering 
in  the  background.  "Isn't  it  funny,  we  has  got  our  night- 
dwesses  on  ?"  she  said  suddenly.  "Woman,  it's  not  pwoper 
to  have  our  bekf us  in  our  nightdwesses ;  and  these  are  such 
keer  nightdwesses,  not  at  all  what  they  ought  to  be.  Our 
mother  would  not  like  us  to  be  dwessed  in  this  sort  of 
style.  Can  you  get  our  day  dwesses,  p'ease,  for  us  to  put 
on,  Aunt  Sawah  ?" 

"No;  I  can't  get  the  dresses  you  wore  yesterday,"  re- 
plied Aunt  Sarah;  "but  for  all  that  you  shall  wear  a  very 
pretty  little  frock.  I  have  got  a  blue  one  for  you  with 
white  wings.  What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"B'ue,  with  white  wings?"  echoed  Diana.  "It  sounds 
pwetty;  but  I  must  have  a  b'ack  bow,  p'ease,  woman,  'cos 
our  mother  has  gone  away  to  the  angels,  you  underland; 
and  when  mothers  go  to  the  angels  little  girls  wear  b'ack 
bows — at  least,  that's  what  Iris  says.  Oh,  I  say,  Orion," 
suddenly  concluded  Diana;  "what  is  we  to  do  without 


Greased  Lightning.  197 

Iris?  She  is  our  little  mother  now.  You  underland  what 
I  mean;  doesn't  you,  Orion?" 

The  only  answer  Orion  made  was  to  fling  himself  flat 
down  on  the  floor  and  begin  to  howl  with  all  his  might. 

"You  had  best  not  do  that,  young  sir,"  said  Aunt  Sarah, 
for  if  Uncle  Ben  hears  he'll  be  awful  angry.  He  is  a  ter- 
rible man  when  he's  angered.  It's  only  right  I  should 
tell  you  the  solemn  truth,  you  poor  little  kids." 

"We  isn't  kids;   we  is  sildrens,"  said  Diana. 

"Well,  you  poor  little  children,  then.  Now,  young  mas- 
ter, if  you'll  take  my  advice,  you'll  do  exactly  what  I  tell 
you.  I'm  going  to  be  a  friend  to  you  and  to  your  little 
sister.  I'll  give  you,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  the  very  best 
food  I  can  get,  and  the  prettiest  dresses  to  wear,  and  I'll 
see  that  my  husband,  Ben  Holt,  ain't  rough  to  you,  and 
I'll  see,  also,  that  Molly  and  Kitty  and  Susan,  the  circus 
girls,  are  kind  to  you,  and  that  Tom,  the  clown,  behaves 
as  he  ought;  but  I  can  do  nothing  if  you  won't  obey  me. 
And  if  you  begin  by  angering  Uncle  Ben,  why,  it'll  be  all 
up  with  you,  my  little  dears." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  all  up,"  answered 
Diana,  her  eyes  sparkling  brightly;  "and  what's  more,  I 
don't  care.  But  I'd  like  to  know  if  you  has  a  weal  live 
clown  about,  'cos  I  like  clowns  and  I  love  pant'mimes. 
I  went  to  a  pant'mime  'fore  mother  was  took  to  the 
angels." 

"Our  show  is  something  like  a  pantomime,  and  yet  it's 
different,"  replied  Aunt  Sarah.  "Now  then,  missy,  stop 
talking,  for  we  has  no  time  to  waste.  Come  over  here 
and  let  me  put  this  nice  stuff  on  your  face.  It  won't  hurt 


198  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

you  one  little  bit — it's  just  to  make  you  look  a  little 
browner  than  you  do  now,  you  and  little  master.  Now, 
come  along  here,  and  let  me  do  it  at  once.  Afterwards, 
I'll  dress  you  in  real  pretty  things.  You,  little  missy, 
shall  wear  some  of  my  own  child's  clothes — the  little 
Eachael  what  died.  My  heart  broke  when  she  died,  missy, 
and  if  I  didn't  mean  to  be  real  kind  to  you  I  wouldn't 
put  her  pretty  little  dress  on  you,  that  I  wouldn't." 

Orion  stepped  back  in  some  alarm  when  he  saw  the 
woman  stirring  something  very  brown  and  ugly  in  a  tin 
can. 

"I  don't  want  that  horrid  stuff  on  my  face/'  he  said. 

"But  you  must  have  it,  master;  if  you  don\  Uncle 
Ben  will  use  you  dreadful,"  said  the  woman.  "Now, 
missy,  tell  your  little  brother  to  be  guided  bj  «ac.  If  he 
don't  do  what  I  tell  'im,  he'll  suffer,  and  I  won't  be  able 
to  help  either  of  you." 

"Don't  be  silly,  Orion,"  said  Diana.  "What  d»  a  little 
bwown  stuff  matter?  Aunt  Sawah's  wather  a  nice  sort 
of  woman.  I'll  do  what  you  wish,  Aunt  Sawah."  She 
came  up  as  she  spoke,  pushed  her  black,  tangled  hair 
away  from  her  charming  little  face,  and  allowed  Aunt 
Sarah  to  cover  it  with  the  walnut  juice.  "It's  sort  of 
sticky,  and  it  don't  smell  nice,"  said  the  little  girl;  "but 
I  'spects  you  can't  help  it.  I  'spects  you  is  kind  about 
your  heart,  isn't  you?" 

"Yes,  my  little  dear;  I  try  to  be,"  said  the  woman. 
''Now,  call  your  brother  over,  and  let  me  d/e  his  face 
»nd  neck  and  little  hands." 

"Come  'long,  Orion,"  said  Diana;   "don't  be 


Greased  Lightning.  199 

"Yon  do  look  so  ugly,  Diana,"  answered  Orion. 

"Well,  what  do  it  matter?"  said  Diana.  "I  has  to 
p'ease  Atmt  Sawah;  she's  a  nice  sort  of  a  woman.  I 
wather  like  her." 

Orion,  who  had  always  submitted  to  Diana,  submitted 
again  now  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  walnut  dye  was 
not  pleasant;  he  felt  quite  sticky  and  uncomfortable,  but 
he  allowed  it  to  cover  his  little  face  and  his  white  neck 
and  hands. 

The  dye  dried  very  quickly,  and  the  children  looked 
as  like  two  gypsies  as  possible  when  they  surveyed  one 
another. 

"Now,  I*m  going  to  fetch  the  clothes,"  said  Aunt  Sarah. 

She  left  the  room,  returning  in  a  very  few  moments 
with  a  pretty  spangled  suit  of  knickerbockers,  which  she 
put  on  Orion,  and  which  quite  enchanted  him. 

"If  you  are  a  good  boy,"  she  continued,  "you  won't  dis- 
like the  life  with  us.  I  wonder  if  you  are  fond  of  horses  ?" 

"Horses !"  said  Orion,  his  eyes  sparkling.    "Bather !" 

"Well,  Uncle  Ben  will  teach  you  to  ride,  and  to  jump, 
and  to  do  all  kinds  of  things.  Now,  just  stand  back,  and 
let  me  dress  little  missy,  for  Ben  is  waiting  to  begin  the 
rehearsal.  Missy,  you  let  me  put  on  your  dress." 

Diana  was  only  too  willing  to  be  attired  in  a  flimsy  skirt 
of  white  tarlatan,  which  stuck  out  from  her  little  figure; 
she  also  wore  wings  on  her  shoulders,  and  her  black  hair 
was  rendered  gay  with  bows  of  crimson  ribbon.  She  felt 
quite  excited  and  pleased  with  herself. 

"I  'epects  I  look  awfV  pwetty,"  she  said.  "I'd  like 
to  see  my  own  self  in  a  looking-glass.  Has  you  got  a 
looking-glass  in  your  pocket,  Aunt  Sawah?" 


200  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"Yes,  dear;   a  small  one." 

Aunt  Sarah  whipped  her  hand  into  a  deep  pocket  and 
took  out  a  glass.  Diana  surveyed  herself  critically  in  its 
depths. 

"I  like  my  dwess,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't  like  this  howid 
bwown  stuff  on  my  face." 

"Never  mind,  dear;  bear  it  for  the  present.  When  we 
get  down  to  the  southwest  of  England  it  shall  all  be  taken 
off ;  but  up  here  Uncle  Ben  thinks  it  best  for  you  both  to 
have  it  on." 

"Why?"  asked  Diana. 

Aunt  Sarah  was  puzzled  for  a  moment. 

"  'Cos  it's  wholesome,"  she  said  at  last. 

"And  isn't  it  wholesome  in  the  southwest  of  England  ?" 
asked  Diana. 

Aunt  Sarah  was  puzzled  how  to  reply.  Diana,  who  was 
gazing  at  her  very  intently,  burst  into  a  clear,  childish 
laugh. 

"Do  you  know  you  is  a  humbug  ?"  she  said.  "You  know 
perfect  well  why  you  is  using  that.  You  want  to  hide  us, 
that's  why.  What  a  silly  old  Aunt  Sawah  you  is !" 

Before  Aunt  Sarah  could  make  a  suitable  reply,  the 
loud  voice  of  Uncle  Ben  was  heard  in  the  distance. 

"Come,  Sarah,"  he  called,  "bring  those  kids  along.  I 
can't  be  kept  waiting  another  minute." 

"Now  then,  dears,"  said  Aunt  Sarah,  "I'll  take  you  to 
the  circus." 

"The  circus !"  cried  Diana.  "Is  we  going  to  a  circus  ? 
I  love  'em !" 


Greased  Lightning.  201 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  are  not  only  going  to  see  a  circus 
but  you  are  going  soon  to  be  a  part  of  a  circus.  Uncle 
Ben  owns  one;  it's  a  sort  of  traveling  circus.  He  takes 
it  about  with  him  from  one  part  of  the  country  to  another. 
You'll  be  part  of  the  circus  in  the  future,  little  miss." 

"And  may  I  wide  horses  ?"  asked  Diana. 

"Surely,  my  dear,  and  perhaps  other  animals  as  well. 
Oh,  never  fear !  you'll  be  taught  all  kinds  of  queer  things. 
Tou'll  have  quite  a  nice  time  if  you  keep  on  the  buttered 
side  of  Uncle  Ben." 

"The  buttered  side !   That  must  be  g'easy,"  said  Diana. 

"Well,  you  keep  on  it,  miss.  If  he's  kind  to  you,  why, 
all  will  be  right,  and,  for  my  part,  I'll  see  you  want  for 
nothing." 

"I  do  believe,"  said  Diana,  her  eyes  sparkling;  she 
turned  and  she  spoke  and  clasped  one  of  Orion's  hands — "I 
do  weally  b'lieve  this  is  better  nor  aunt's.  Do  come  'long, 
Orion;  I  always  did  love  circuses." 

Aunt  Sarah  led  the  children  down  a  long,  narrow 
passage,  and  then  across  an  open  court,  until  presently 
they  found  themselves  inside  the  entrance  of  a  huge  cir- 
cular tent.  Here  seats  were  arranged  for  a  crowd  of  peo- 
ple, all  of  which  were,  of  course,  empty  at  present;  but 
the  whole  of  the  center  of  the  tent  was  occupied  by  a 
wide  arena  covered  with  sand.  In  the  middle  of  this 
space  stood  Uncle  Ben.  He  had  a  big  whip  in  his  hand, 
and  looked  very  fierce  and  terrible. 

"There  you  are  at  last,  Sarah!"  he  called  out.  "Oh, 
and  there  are  the  kids !"  He  stepped  forward  as  he 
spoke.  "Now,  little  missy,"  he  said,  looking  full  at  Diana, 


202  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"what  would  you  say  if  I  was  to  put  you  on  ',op  of  « 
horse's  back  ?  You  wouldn't  be  frightened,  would  you  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Diana. 

"I  don't  believe  you  would.  I  believe  you  are  a  plucky 
little  girl.  Well,  I'd  just  as  lief  give  you  a  lesson  straight 
away,  for  you'll  haye  to  take  your  part  in  the  show  in 
a  week  from  now.  We'll  let  her  ride  round  the  arena  on 
Greased  Lightning,  eh,  Sarah?" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't !  Not  on  that  'orse,"  said  the  woman. 
She  clasped  her  hands  imploringly  together.  "Remem- 
ber, Ben,"  she  continued,  speaking  in  a  timorous  voice, 
and  her  color  coming  and  going,  "remember  that  Greased 
Lightning  is  a  very  wicious  sort  of  'orse,  and  this  is  only 
a  little  child.  Has  you  ever  been  on  a  'orse'8  back  afore, 
little  love  ?" 

"Sometimes,"  replied  Diana.  "And  my  faver  said  when 
I  got  older  he  would  give  me  a  horse  of  my  own  to  wide. 
He  said  I  was  too  young  yet,  you  know;  but  I  aren't 
fwightened,"  she  added.  "I  don't  mind  a  bit  sitting  on 
the  back  of  G'eased  Lightning.  But  what  a  funny  name !" 

"Eight  you  are !"  said  the  man.  "You  shall  have  your 
ride.  I  can  see  that  you  have  plenty  of  pluck,  young  'un. 
Come  along,  then,  little  missy.  Tom,  you  go  and  bring 
out  Greased  Lightning  this  minute." 

A  tall  lad,  with  red  hair  and  a  cast  in  one  eye,  now 
made  his  appearance  in  the  arena  of  the  circus.  At  Uncle 
Ben's  words  he  turned  abruptly,  disappeared  through  a 
curtain,  and  a  moment  later  re-entered,  leading  a  very 
graceful  chestnut  horse  by  a  bridle.  The  creature  pawed 
the  ground  as  it  walked,  and  arched  its  stately  neck. 


Greased  Lightning.  203 

"You  had  best  have  a  saddle,  guv'nor,"  said  tke  boy. 

"None  of  your  sauce,  Tom.  The  young  'un  must  learn 
to  ride  bare-back,  and  at  once.  I'll  walk  round  with  her 
the  first  time.  Now  then,  missy." 

Diana  was  clapping  her  hands;  her  eyes  were  blazing 
with  excitement. 

"It's  kite  'licious,"  she  said,  jumping  up  and  down.  "I 
aren't  fwightened,"  she  continued;  "that  aren't  me." 

The  next  moment  she  was  lifted  on  to  the  back  of 
Greased  Lightning.  In  all  probability  the  horse  which 
bore  that  title  had  never  carried  such  a  feather-weight  as 
little  Diana  before.  Uncle  Ben  began  to  lead  him  round 
and  round  the  circus.  Diana  sat  perfectly  upright;  she 
did  not  attempt  even  to  clutch  a  hair  of  his  mane.  Uncle 
Ben  praised  her. 

"You  are  a  plucky  little  missy,"  he  said.  <rWhy,  you'll 
do  fine.  Now,  do  you  think  you  can  stand  on  the  horse  ?" 

"Course,"  replied  Diana.  "What's  foots  for,  you  silly 
man,  if  not  to  stand  ?  You  is  silly,  Uncle  Ben." 

"I  nerer!"  said  Uncle  Ben,  bursting  out  laughing. 
"Well,  missy,  if  I  am  silly,  you  has  got  a  lot  of  sauce. 
'What's  good  for  the  goose  is  good  for  the  gander.' " 

"That  sounds  howid  vulgar,  and  I  don't  underland," 
answered  Diana,  in  a  dignified  tone.  "I'll  stand  on  my 
two  foots  if  you'll  hold  G'eased  Lightning  k'ite  still." 

"Woe !  stay  quiet  this  minute,"  said  the  man  to  the 
horse.  The  pretty  creature  instantly  obeyed,  and  little 
Diana,  nothing  loath,  scrambled  on  to  her  small  feet. 
The  horse  moved  gently  forward,  and  the  little  child  man- 
aged to  keep  her  balance.  She  went  the  entire  round  of 


204  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

the  circus  two  or  three  times  in  this  position,  and  then 
Uncle  Ben,  saying  that  she  was  a  very  fine  little  creature, 
and  would  answer  his  purposes  to  a  nicety,  lifed  her  down 
in  the  height  of  good  humor. 

"Take  care  of  her,"  he  said,  bringing  her  back  to  Aunt 
Sarah;  "there's  a  fortune  in  her,  little  mite  that  she  is. 
She  need  not  do  any  more  to-day.  Why,  I'll  have  her 
trained  in  no  time  when  we  get  down  to  the  west  of  Eng- 
land. She'll  do  her  work  beautiful,  and  will  take  the 
house  by  storm.  Now  then,  master,  it's  your  turn.  We 
must  have  a  pair  of  you,  you  know — a  boy  and  a  girl. 
It's  the  very  thing  to  draw  crowds  in  the  west." 

But  alas !  Orion,  notwithstanding  his  brave  name,  was 
made  of  very  different  stuff  from  his  sister.  He  felt  fear, 
where  Diana,  in  all  truth,  did  not  know  the  meaning  of 
the  word.  He  shivered  visibly  when  he  was  lifted  on  to 
Greased  Lightning's  back.  Diana  called  out  to  him  in  an 
encouraging  and  cheery  voice. 

"Don't  forget  you  is  a  giant,"  she  said.  "Think  of  yous 
sword  and  yous  belt.  Now  then,  gee  up !  pretty  horse ;  I 
only  wishes  I  was  widing  you." 

"Come,  young  master,  don't  clutch  the  mane  so  hard," 
said  Holt.  "Hands  off,  I  say!  Greased  Lightning  won't 
stand  that  kind  of  treatment." 

But  the  more  the  manager  spoke  the  tighter  did  Orion 
grasp  the  black  mane  of  the  chestnut  horse.  Greased 
Lightning  began  to  paw  the  ground  and  to  show  many 
signs  of  discomfort;  whereupon  Orion  uttered  a  piercing 
cry  and  began  slipping  backwards,  towards  the  tail  of  the 
beast. 


Greased  Lightning.  205 

"Come,"  said  the  man ;  "get  back  to  your  seat  this  min- 
ute. I  have  a  whip  in  my  hand,  and  it  can  sting;  come, 
young  sir !" 

"Don't  you  dare  to  stwike  my  bwother!"  said  Diana, 
running  across  the  arena. 

Some  girls,  who  had  just  come  in,  and  several  men, 
all  burst  out  laughing. 

"You  had  best  come  back,  miss ;  you  had  best  not  anger 
him/'  said  a  fair-haired  girl,  stretching  out  her  hand  to 
the  little  child  as  she  spoke. 

"Anger  him?"  said  Diana.  "I  doesn't  know  what  you 
mean.  Does  you  think  I'm  going  to  let  Orion  be  hurted  ? 
Listen  to  me,  man.  You  had  best  let  Orion  jump  off  this 
morning,  'cos  he's  tired.  I'll  talk  to  him  all  about  widing 
to-morrow.  Let  him  get  down  now,  p'ease,  big  man." 

"Xot  until  he  has  been  twice  round  the  circus,"  said 
Uncle  Ben.  "You  stand  aside,  missy,  or  Greased  Light- 
ning may  tread  on  you." 

But  Diana  was  not  to  be  so  easily  restrained.  She  now 
flew  up  to  Uncle  Ben  and  tried  to  pull  his  big  whip  from 
his  hand. 

"You  don't  dare  to  stwike  my  bwother!"  she  repeated, 
her  eyes  flashing.  Her  determined  attitude,  the  fearless- 
ness of  her  whole  little  nature,  induced  Uncle  Ben  to 
yield  to  her  for  the  nonce.  This  he  did  more  particularly 
as  he  saw  that  the  little  boy  was  really  incapable  of  keep- 
ing his  seat  another  moment. 

"Well,  then,  look  here,  little  miss,"  he  said;  "you  has 
behaved  very  well  indeed  yourself,  and  so  I'll  let  the  little 
chap  off  this  morning.  Now  you  know,  sir,  it  is  'cos  of 


20«  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

your  sister,  for  she's  a  plucky  'un ;  so  you  may  go  back  to 
my  wife.  Here,  Sarah,  take  the  pair  of  'em.  You  can 
go  and  sit  on  one  of  them  chairs  over  there,  children,  and 
see  us  as  we  go  through  our  rehearsal." 

The  rest  of  the  morning  was  a  truly  exciting,  not  to  say 
breathless,  time  to  Diana.  She  had  not  an  instant  to 
regret  her  absence  from  Iris  and  Apollo.  The  exploits, 
the  feats  performed  by  the  three  circus  girls,  and  by  Tom 
the  clown,  to  say  nothing  of  the  advent  of  the  elephant 
and  of  the  donkey,  who  could  perform  numberless  tricks, 
and  finally,  the  performances  of  the  troop  of  dogs,  who 
seemed  more  human  than  most  human  beings,  all  fasci- 
nated the  little  girl.  Even  Orion  forgot  his  terrors  as  he 
looked  on;  his  cheeks  flamed  through  their  walnut  dye, 
and  his  dark  eyes  grew  brighter  than  ever. 

When  the  rehearsal  was  at  last  over,  the  whole  party 
rushed  back  to  their  rooms,  where  a  hasty  meal  was  served ; 
and  little  Diana  sat  between  two  of  the  circus  girls  and 
was  petted,  and  laughed  at,  and  made  much  of,  and  Orion 
kept  close  to  Aunt  Sarah,  who  took  care  that  he  should 
have  as  many  tit-bits  as  she  could  manage  to  secure  for 
him. 

At  three  o'clock  there  was  a  public  performance,  but 
now  neither  Diana  nor  Orion  was  allowed  to  be  present. 
They  found  themselves  shut  up  once  more  in  the  ugly 
little  room,  where  Mother  Eodesia  had  first  taken  them. 
From  this  place  they  could  hear  as  a  sort  of  distant  echo 
the  shouts  of  the  men  and  women  who  were  performing, 
and  the  cheers  of  the  people  who  were  looking  on. 

At  six  o'clock  the  performance  came  to  an  end,  and 


Greased  Lightning.  207 

then,  indeed,  began  a  fearful  bustle  and  excitement.  Peo- 
ple were  running  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  and,  two 
hours  later,  the  great  vans  were  all  packed,  the  animals 
properly  secured,  and  the  party,  with  the  exception  of 
Aunt  Sarah,  Diana,  and  Orion,  had  started  en  route  for 
the  west  of  England. 

"Why  isn't  we  going  with  the  others?"  asked  Diana. 

"  'Cos  the  train  is  faster,  little  miss/'  answered  Aunt 
Sarah.  "And  now  the  cab  is  at  the  door,  and,  if  you  will 
jump  in  at  once  we  will  be  at  the  station  in  no  time." 

"I  calls  it  lovely,"  said  Diana,  turning  to  secure  Orion's 
approval.  "I  like  it  miles  better  nor  lessons  with  Miss 
Wamsay  nor  being  heated  by  Aunt  Jane.  Only,  course," 
she  added,  in  a  meditative  voice,  "I's  twuly,  twuly  sossy  for 
Uncle  William  and  Iris  and  Apollo." 


CHAPTEK  XVIII. 

THE  HEAKT  OF  THE  LITTLE  MOTHER. 

It  may  seem  almost  impossible  to  believe  that  two  little 
children  could  be  kidnaped  in  the  England  of  to-day. 
Nevertheless,  such  was  the  case.  Mother  Eodesia  had  man- 
aged her  theft  with  great  skill.  The  gypsies  had  appeared 
unexpectedly  in  the  Fairy  Dell — no  one  knew  they  were 
there,  therefore  no  one  looked  for  them.  Having  kidnaped 
the  children,  Mother  Eodesia  took  care  immediately  to 
bury  their  clothes,  and  then  she  sold  them  to  Ben  Holt, 
the  great  circus  manager,  who  took  them  within  a  few 
hours  right  away  to  the  southwest  of  England.  The  little 
children  had  not  accompanied  the  troupe,  but  had  gone 
with  Aunt  Sarah  by  train.  There  had  been  little  fuss  and 
no  apparent  attempt  at  hiding  the  pair,  therefore  no  one 
thought  of  looking  for  them  in  the  large  southwestern 
town  where  Holt  established  his  great  circus. 

It  was  the  most  popular  time  of  the  year  for  perform- 
ing shows  of  all  sorts,  and  Ben  Holt  expected  to  make  a 
considerable  sum  of  money  out  of  the  pretty  and  vivacious 
little  pair. 

Meanwhile,  the  police  were  on  their  track;  advertise- 
ments about  them  were  scattered  all  over  the  country — 
208 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  209 

considerable  rewards  were  offered,  and  there  was  more 
than  one  nearly  broken  heart  in  the  pretty  Eectory  of 
Super-Ashton. 

Even  Aunt  Jane  felt  by  no  means  herself.  She  would 
not  own  to  having  done  anything  wrong,  but  she  became 
wonderfully  gentle  to  Iris  and  Apollo.  She  was  unremit- 
ting, too,  in  her  efforts  to  recover  the  lost  children,  and 
began  to  look  quite  peaky  about  the  face  and  lined  round 
the  mouth. 

As  to  Uncle  "William,  he  preached  nothing  but  old  ser- 
mons, finding  it  beyond  his  powers  to  devote  his  attention 
to  anything  fresh  or  new.  He  hated  the  study  window 
where  little  Diana  had  lain  in  his  arms — he  hated  the 
memory  of  the  whip  which  he  had  used  over  her.  On  one 
occasion  he  even  went  the  length  of  saying  to  his  wife: 

"Jane,  it  was  your  doing — she  was  too  spirited  a  child 
for  the  treatment  you  subjected  her  to.  She  ought  never 
to  have  been  whipped.  But  for  you  she  would  not  have 
run  away." 

This  was  a  very  terrible  moment  for  Aunt  Jane,  and 
she  was  too  much  cowed  and  stricken  to  reply  a  single 
word  to  her  husband.  He  could  not  help,  notwithstanding 
his  great  anxiety,  having  a  momentary  sense  of  pleasure 
when  he  found  that  he  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  his 
clever  wife;  but  Aunt  Jane  had  it  out  with  the  servants 
and  the  parishioners  afterwards,  and  so  revenged  herself 
after  a  fashion. 

As  to  Iris,  a  very  sad  change  came  over  her.  She  grew 
thin  and  very  pale ;  she  scarcely  ate  anything,  and  scarcely 
ever  spoke.  Even  Apollo,  even  little  Ann  quite  failed  to 


210  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

comfort  her.  She  did  not  complain,  but  she  went  about 
with  a  drooping  look,  somewhat  like  a  little  flower  which 
wants  water. 

"Iris  is  not  well,"  Miss  Kamsay  said  one  morning  to 
Mrs.  Dolman.  "She  does  not  eat  her  food,  and  when  I 
went  into  her  bedroom  last  night  I  found  that  she  was 
wide  awake,  and  had  evidently  been  silently  crying.  I 
think  she  ought  to  see  a  doctor!" 

"Dear,  dear!"  replied  Mrs.  Dolman.  "Do  you  know. 
Miss  Ramsay,  I  am  almost  sorry  I  undertook  the  charge 
of  the  little  I3elaneys.  They  certainly  have  turned  out, 
as  their  poor  father  expressed  it,  a  handful.  If  Iris  is 
really  ill,  I  had  better  see  her.  Send  her  to  me.  You 
don't  suppose  she  is — fretting?" 

"Yes;  of  course  she  is  fretting  dreadfully,"  replied  Miss 
Eamsay.  "And  no  wonder,  poor  little  girl !  For  my  part, 
I  consider  it  perfectly  awful  to  contemplate  the  fate  of 
those  poor  lost  children." 

"Oh,  they  will  be  found — they  are  likely  to  return  here 
any  day,"  replied  Mrs.  Dolman.  "It  is  just  like  you,  Miss 
Eamsay,  to  go  to  the  fair  with  things,  and  to  imagine  the 
very  worst.  Why,  for  instance,  should  not  some  very  kind 
people  have  found  the  children?  Why  must  they,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  cruel  and 
unprincipled  folk?  Some  of  the  very  sharpest  detectives 
in  Scotland  Yard  are  on  their  track.  For  my  part,  I  have 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  they  will  soon  be  brought 
back." 

Miss  Eamsay  uttered  a  sigh. 

"I  will  send  Iris  down  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said. 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  211 

This  conversation  occurred  between  three  and  four 
weeks  after  little  Orion  and  Diana  had  disappeared.  Mrs. 
Dolman  was  in  her  study.  It  was  a  very  uglj  room, 
sparsely  furnished.  There  was  a  large,  old-fashioned  desk 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  and  she  was  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair in  front  of  it,  busily  engaged  making  up  her  different 
tradesmen's  books,  when  the  door  was  softly  opened  and 
Iris  came  in. 

Mrs.  Dolman  had  not  had  any  special  conversation  with 
Iris  since  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  two  younger 
children,  and  now,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at 
her  attentively,  she  was  startled  at  the  great  change  in 
her  appearance.  The  child  was  reduced  almost  to  a  shadow. 
She  was  dressed  in  her  heavy  black,  without  a  touch  of 
relieving  white.  Her  lovely  hair  hung  over  her  shoulders, 
and  was  pushed  back  from  her  low  brow,  bringing  into 
greater  contrast  the  small,  pinched,  white  face,  and  the 
great  brown  eyes,  which  looked  now  too  big  for  the  little 
countenance  to  which  they  belonged. 

"Come  here,  Iris,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman.  She  had  always 
liked  Iris  the  best  of  the  children.  "Come  and  tell  me 
what  is  the  matter." 

Iris  came  slowly  forward. 

"Miss  Eamsay  says  that  you  do  not  eat  and  do  not 
sleep.  If  that  is  the  case,  I  must  send  for  the  doctor  to 
see  you,"  continued  Aunt  Jane. 

"Yes,  Aunt  Jane/'  answered  Iris. 

She  hung  her  head  listlessly.  Mrs.  Dolman  put  her  arm 
round  the  slender  waist  and  drew  the  child  close  to  her 


212  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

side.  Iris  submitted  to  this  embrace  without  in  any  way 
returning  it. 

"And  when  you  see  the  doctor  he  will,  of  course,  order 
you  a  tonic,  and  perhaps  tell  us  to  take  you  to  the  seaside. 
If  that  is  the  case,  we  must  do  so,  Iris — we  must  do  our 
duty  by  you,  whatever  happens.  It  would  never  do  for  you 
to  be  ill,  you  understand." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Jane,"  answered  Iris ;  "that's  what  I  think 
myself — it  would  never  do." 

"Then  you  will  try  to  get  well,  dear?  You  will  do  ex- 
actly what  the  doctor  says?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Jane." 

Mrs.  Dolman  looked  earnestly  into  her  little  niece's 
face. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  in  a  brisk  voice,  "I  am,  for  my 
part,  quite  certain  that  we  shall  get  tidings  of  the  lost 
children  either  to-day  or  to-morrow.  We  are  not  leaving 
a  stone  unturned  to  get  them  back." 

Iris  raised  her  delicate  brows,  and  for  a  moment  there 
came  a  flashing  light  of  hope  into  her  eyes;  but  then  it 
died  out.  She  lowered  her  lashes  and  did  not  speak. 

"You  are  pale  and  your  hands  are  hot,"  said  Mrs.  Dol- 
man. 

"I  feel  hot,"  answered  Iris,  "and  I  am  thirsty,"  she 
added. 

"Oh,  come !  this  will  never  do,"  said  Aunt  Jane.  "I 
shall  just  take  you  away  this  minute  to  see  the  doctor." 

She  rose  impatiently  as  she  spoke.  The  apathy  which 
was  over  Iris  irritated  her  more  than  she  could  express. 
If  the  child  had  only  burst  into  tears,  or  even  defied  her 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  213 

as  little  Diana  used  to  do,  she  felt  that  she  could  compre- 
hend matters  a  great  deal  better. 

"If  we  are  quick,  we  may  see  Dr.  Kent  before  he  goes 
on  his  rounds,"  she  said.  "Bun  upstairs  at  once,  Iris,  and 
fetch  your  hat." 

Iris  immediately  left  the  room. 

"The  child  looks  as  if  something  had  stunned  her," 
thought  Mrs.  Dolman  to  herself.  "I  never  saw  such  a 
queer  expression  on  any  little  girl's  face.  Now,  I  am  quite 
certain  if  Philip  or  Conrad  had  been  kidnaped,  that  Lucy 
and  Mary  would  be  a  great  deal  too  sensible  to  act  in  this 
silly  way.  The  worst  of  it  is,  too,  that  there  is  nothing 
really  to  lay  hold  of,  for  the  child  does  not  even  complain 
— she  simply  suffers.  What  am  I  to  do?  How  am  I  to 
tell  the  children's  father  that  two  of  them  have  disap- 
peared, and  the  eldest,  his  favorite,  too,  is  very  ill?" 

Iris  re-entered  the  room,  with  her  sun-bonnet  hanging 
on  her  arm. 

"Put  it  on,  my  dear,  put  it  on;  and  brisk  up  a  little," 
said  Mrs.  Dolman.  "There  is  no  good  in  giving  way  to 
your  feelings." 

"I  never  give  way  to  them,  Aunt  Jane.  I  try  to  be 
patient,"  answered  Iris. 

Mrs.  Dolman  tied  on  her  own  bonnet  with  her  usual 
vigor.  She  then  took  one  of  the  hot  little  hands  in  hers, 
and,  a  few  moments  later,  the  aunt  and  niece  were  standing 
outside  Dr.  Kent's  door  in  the  pretty  little  village  street. 

Dr.  Kent  was  at  home.  He  was  a  young  man,  and  a 
clever  doctor,  and  he  gave  Iris  a  good  overhauling.  He 
listened  to  her  lungs  and  heart,  put  several  questions  to 


214  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

her,  was  kind  in  his  manner,  and  did  not  express  the  least 
surprise  when  he  heard  that  the  little  girl  could  neither 
eat  nor  sleep. 

"I  perfectly  understand,"  he  said.  "And  now,  my  dear, 
I  hope  soon  to  have  you  as  right  as  a  trivet;  but,  in  the 
meantime,  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  your 
aunt.  Can  you  find  your  way  into  my  dining-room  ?  You 
have  only  to  turn  to  the  left  when  you  leave  this  room." 

"Thank  you,"  answered  Iris.  She  went  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  shut  it  behind  her. 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  about  her?"  said  Aunt  Jane. 
"Out  with  the  truth,  please,  Dr.  Kent.  You  know  I  never 
can  stand  any  beating  about  the  bush." 

'There  is  nothing  of  the  ordinary  nature  the  matter 
with  your  little  niece,"  began  the  doctor. 

Mrs.  Dolman  raised  her  brows  in  surprise  and  indigna- 
tion. 

"How  can  you  say  that?"  she  remarked.  <*The  child 
looks  seriously  ill." 

"Please  allow  me  to  finish  my  speech.  There  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  the  child  in  the  form  of  organic  or  any 
other  disease;  but  just  at  present  there  is  such  a  severe 
strain  on  her  mind  that,  if  it  is  not  completely  relieved, 
she  is  very  likely  to  die." 

"Doctor !  What  a  terrible  thing  to  say !" 

"It  is  true.  The  child  needs  rousing — she  is  losing  all 
interest  in  life.  She  has  been  subjected  to  a  terrible 
shock." 

"Of  course  she  has,"  replied  Mrs.  Dolman;    "but  the 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  815 

extraordinary  thing  is  that  a  child  of  ten  years  of  age 
should  feel  it  so  much." 

"It  is  not  extraordinary  in  that  sort  of  child,"  replied 
the  doctor.  "Can  you  not  see  for  yourself  that  she  has 
a  very  delicate  and  a  very  nervous  organism.  She  has 
lately,  too,  lost  her  mother,  has  she  not?" 

"Yes;  and  I  believe  the  child  was  very  fond  of  her; 
but,  indeed,  I  may  as  well  say  that  I  never  saw  anyone 
more  sensible  than  little  Iris  about  that.  She  scarcely 
seemed  to  grieve  at  all.  Of  course,  I  dare  say  she  was  very 
sorry,  but  she  did  not  show  it." 

"All  the  worse  for  her,"  answered  Dr.  Kent.  "If  she 
had  given  way  about  her  mother,  and  allowed  her  grief 
to  get  the  upper  hand,  she  would  not  be  so  ill  as  she  is 
now.  Then  came  the  second  blow — the  extraordinary  loss 
of  the  children." 

"Then  you  really  think  her  very  ill  ?"  said  Mrs.  Dolman. 
"I  would  do  anything  to  save  her,  doctor.  These  four 
children  were  put  into  my  care  by  their  father." 

"Where  is  the  father  now?"  asked  Dr.  Kent. 

"He  must  have  nearly  reached  the  Himalayas  by  this 
time." 

"Is  it  possible  for  you  to  communicate  with  him?" 

"To  say  the  truth,  I  have  hesitated  to  do  so.  He  suf- 
fered terribly  at  the  death  of  his  wife.  It  would  be  fearful 
for  him  to  learn  that  two  of  the  children  are  missing,  and 
one  very  ill.  I  have  waited,  hoping  for  better  news." 

"You  did  wrong.  He  ought  to  know  of  this  calamity. 
Each  day  that  does  not  give  you  tidings  of  the  missing 


216  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

children  lessens  the  chance  of  your  ever  recovering  then* 
I  must  say  their  disappearance  is  most  mysterious." 

"So  it  is,"  answered  Aunt  Jane,  suddenly.  "And  in  my 
heart  of  hearts,"  she  added,  "I  am  greatly  alarmed." 

"Well,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  send  a  cablegram  to  the 
address  most  likely  to  find  Mr.  Delaney." 

"If  you  think  it  right." 

"I  do.  It  is  the  only  thing  to  do.  He  ought  to  come 
home  immediately.  That  little  girl  ought  to  have  her 
father  with  her." 

"Then  your  opinion  is  that  Iris  is  very  ill  ?" 

"She  is  on  her  way  to  be  very  ill.  At  the  same  time,  if 
her  mind  is  relieved,  she  will  be  well  in  a  week.  Under 
existing  circumstances,  however,  there  seems  but  small 
chance  of  that.  You  ought  to  communicate  with  the 
father,  and  if  I  were  you  I  would  let  the  child  do  some- 
thing herself — even  if  that  something  is  useless — to  try  to 
recover  her  lost  brother  and  sister." 

"What  do  you  mean?  It  really  is  impossible  for  the 
child  to  go  over  the  country  looking  for  Orion  and  Diana. 
Oh,  what  trouble  I  brought  upon  myself  when  I  undertook 
the  care  of  my  brother's  family !" 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  Dolman,  but  I  must  give 
you  my  true  opinion.  Please  act  on  my  suggestion;  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  regret  it.  Communicate  with  the  father 
in  the  quickest  way  possible,  urge  him  to  return  to  London 
without  fail,  and  give  little  Iris  something  to  do  which 
will  occupy  and  satisfy  her  mind.  In  the  meantime  I  will 
order  her  a  tonic,  but  medicines  are  not  what  she  needs. 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  217 

She  requires  mind  rest,  and  nothing  else  will  make  her 
well." 

Mrs.  Dolman  left  Dr.  Kent's  house,  feeling  very  un- 
comfortable. She  took  Iris  home,  was  wonderfully  gentle 
to  her  during  the  walk,  and  sent  her  up  to  the  schoolroom 
with  a  message  to  Miss  Eamsay  to  say  that  she  was  not  to 
do  any  more  lessons  that  morning.  Having  got  rid  of  Iris, 
she  went  immediately  to  have  an  interview  with  her  hus- 
band in  his  study. 

"Well,  William,"  she  said,  "I  own  myself  beaten." 

"My  dear  Jane — beaten?  In  what  way?" 

"Here's  a  pretty  mess,"  continued  Mrs.  Dolman ;  "Orion 
and  Diana  cannot  be  found,  and  Dr.  Kent  says  that  Iris  is 
going  to  be  very  ill." 

"Iris  going  to  be  ill?"  repeated  Mr.  Dolman.  "Has  she 
caught  anything  taking  ?  If  so,  Jane,  it  would  be  our  duty 
to  separate  the  children  immediately." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  William !  Where  would  she  take  a  catch- 
ing complaint  in  a  wholesome,  well-sanitated  rectory  like 
this  ?  Have  you  never  heard  of  nerve  troubles  ?" 

Mr.  Dolman  opened  his  sleepy  eyes  and  stared  full  at 
his  wife. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "I  often  thought  that  you  had  never 
heard  of  them.  So  you  really  believe  in  them  at  last  ?" 

"I  am  forced  to  when  that  pretty  child  is  dying  from 
the  effects  of  them." 

Mrs.  Dolman  then  repeated  to  her  husband  all  that  Dr. 
Kent  had  said. 

"I  cannot  stand  the  responsibility  any  longer,"  she  said. 
"I  will  send  a  cablegram  to  David  this  very  day.  What 


218  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

will  he  think  of  me  ?  Of  course  he  will  never  forgive  me. 
In  the  meantime,  William,  have  you  anything  to  propose 
about  little  Iris?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Dolman.  "There  may  not  he  much 
in  my  suggestion;  but  the  fact  is,  I  feel  dreadfully  rest- 
less, sitting  here  day  after  day,  doing  nothing." 

"William,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  answered  hia  wife.  "Sit- 
ting here  day  after  day,  doing  nothing!  Have  you  not 
your  parish  to  attend  to?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that — you  attend  to  the  parish,  my 
love/' 

"Thank  you,  William,  for  acknowledging  that  fact  at 
last." 

"I  frankly  acknowledge  it.  Then,  too,  we  have  no  sick 
poor  in  the  parish,  and  everything  is  really  in  a  prosperous 
condition ;  hut  the  fact  is,  I  hate  sitting  down  to  my  com- 
fortable meals,  and  lying  down  at  night  on  my  comfortable 
bed,  not  knowing  in  what  part  of  the  world  dear,  spirited 
little  Diana  may  be.  I  don't  think  half  so  much  about  the 
boy  as  little  Diana." 

"You  are  like  all  the  rest  of  your  sex,  William;  you 
are  taken  by  a  child  because  it  happens  to  be  a  girl  and 
has  a  pair  of  black  eyes.  For  my  part,  I  never  could  bear 
little  Diana." 

"Please  don't  say  that  now." 

"Oh,  it  is  not  that  I  am  not  sorry  for  her ;  of  course,  I 
am  dreadfully  sorry,  and  I  acknowledge — I  do  acknowl- 
edge— that  I  have  been  more  or  less  to  blame.  But  now, 
please,  come  to  the  point — you  always  were  such  a  map 
for  going  round  and  round  a  subject." 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  219 

"Well,  then/'  said  Mr.  Dolman,  "this  is  it:  The  doctor 
wishes  Iris  to  be  roused.  Let  me  take  both  her  and 
Apollo,  and  let  us  begin  to  look  for  the  lost  children." 

"And  do  you  suppose,"  answered  Mrs.  Dolman  with  a 
laugh,  "that  you  will  be  more  likely  to  find  the  children 
than  the  clever  detectives  who  are  on  their  track?" 

"We  can  go  to  London  and  take  a  detective  with  us. 
Iris  will  at  once  feel  happier  if  she  is  doing  something. 
The  fact  is  this :  I  am  certain  the  inaction  is  killing  her." 

"It  is  an  extraordinary  plan,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman;  "but, 
after  all,  if  it  is  the  only  way  to  keep  Iris  alive,  I  suppose 
we  must  consider  it.  But,  William,  I  am  the  suitable  one 
to  take  Iris  and  Apollo  about.  Indeed,  why  should  Apollo 
go  at  all  ?  He  at  least  is  in  perfect  health." 

"The  person  to  consider  is  Iris,"  said  Mr.  Dolman.  "She 
will  confide  in  Apollo  when  she  will  not  confide  in  anyone 
else;  and  I  think,  Jane,"  he  added,  looking  very  strong 
and  determined,  "that  she  would  rather  go  with  me  than 
with  you."  Mrs.  Dolman  flushed.  "You  know,  Jane,"  con- 
tinued her  husband,  "you  have  been  a  little  hard  on  these 
children." 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  Mrs.  Dolman,  "and  when  I  have 
tried  to  do  my  duty,  too.  But,  of  course,  Evangeline's 
children  were  likely  to  be  unmanageable;  they  had  such 
extraordinary  training  when  they  were  babies.  However, 
as  matters  stand,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say." 

"Then,  my  dear,  we  will  consider  the  thing  arranged. 
We  can  easily  get  John  Burroughs  to  lend  us  one  of  his 
curates  for  Sunday,  and  you  will  do  all  the  rest.  Now, 
shall  I  see  Iris  and  submit  the  plan  to  her?" 


220  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"An  extraordinary  plan  it  is/'  answered  Mrs.  Dolman; 
"but  perhaps  you  are  right,  William.  At  any  rate,  I  have 
proved  myself  so  completely  in  the  wrong  that  I  am  will- 
ing on  this  occasion  to  be  guided  by  you." 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  left  the  room,  and  went  up  to 
the  schoolroom. 

"Iris,"  she  said  to  the  little  girl,  "I  want  you  and 
Apollo  to  come  downstairs  immediately." 

Iris  sprang  to  her  feet;  she  grew  white  to  her  lips. 

"Have  you  heard  anything?"  she  asked. 

"No,  my  dear,  nothing — nothing  whatever;  only  your 
uncle  wishes  to  speak  to  you.  Now,  come  at  once,  for  he 
is  not  the  sort  of  man  to  be  kept  waiting." 

Mrs.  Dolman  left  the  room  and  the  children  followed 
her.  When  they  reached  the  study,  Iris  went  straight  up 
to  her  uncle. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me,  Uncle  William?"  she 
asked. 

"The  fact  is  this,"  he  answered,  scarcely  looking  at  her, 
and  speaking  with  great  eagerness  and  emphasis  for  him, 
"you  and  I,  Iris,  have  got  to  do  something,  and  there  is 
not  a  moment  to  delay." 

A  great  flood  of  color  filled  Iris'  cheeks,  a  new  light 
darted  into  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,  Uncle  William,"  she  said,  panting  as  she 
spoke,  "we  have  been  doing  nothing  too  long.  It  has  nearly 
killed  me,  Uncle  William,"  she  added. 

"Then,  my  dear,  we  will  just  be  our  own  detectives — 
you  and  I  and  Apollo.  We  will  start  this  very  afternoon; 
we  will  look  for  the  children  ourselves.  Why,  what  is  the 


The  Heart  of  the  Little  Mother.  221 

matter,  my  dear;  what  is  the  matter?  What  are  you 
doing  ?" 

For  little  Iris  had  fallen  on  her  knees,  had  caught  her 
uncle's  hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  was  pressing  it  fran- 
tically to  her  lips. 

"Oh,  Uncle  William,"  she  said,  "how  can  I  thank  you? 
I  promised  mother  the  day  she  died  that  I  would  be  a  little 
mother  to  the  others,  and  I  have  failed,  I  have  failed 
dreadfully,  and  it  is  killing  me,  Uncle  William.  But  oh, 
if  I  can  find  them  again,  and  if  you  will  really  help  me, 
and  if  we  do  start  to-day — oh,  if  this  is  true,  then  I  am 
happy  again." 

"You  observe,  my  dear  Jane,"  said  Mr.  Dolman,  "that 
my  proposal  seems  to  be  correct.  Now,  run  off,  Iris,  and 
get  Simpson  to  pack  some  clothes  for  you  and  Apollo.  We 
will  leave  Super-Ashton  by  the  three  o'clock  train." 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

"A  PIGMY,  I  CALL  HIM/' 

The  seaside  town  of  Madersley  was  crowded  to  excess. 
It  was  the  height  of  the  summer  season,  and  Holt's  circus 
was  doing  a  roaring  trade.  There  were  two  exhibitions 
daily,  and  every  available  corner  in  the  great  tent  was 
crammed  to  excess.  The  spectators  said  that  they  came 
principally  to  see  the  little  dark-eyed  girl  ride.  For  Diana 
had  taken  to  the  life  almost  as  kindly  as  a  young  duck 
takes  to  the  water.  She  had  learned  her  part  quickly,  and 
in  a  very  short  time  she  could  ride  even  the  most  spirited 
horse.  She  was  really  almost  destitute  of  fear,  and  was 
even  seen  to  laugh  when  she  was  put  upon  the  back  of  a 
buck-jumper,  who  did  his  utmost  to  toss  her  off.  There 
were  always  men  or  women  close  by  to  catch  her  if  she 
did  fail  to  go  through  any  of  the  rings,  the  large  paper 
balloons,  or  the  other  obstructions  put  in  her  way.  -Her 
piquant  little  face,  the  bold  expression  of  her  eyes,  her 
fearless  manner,  and  the  unmistakable  look  of  babyhood 
about  her,  roused  the  spectators  to  a  frenzy  of  admiration. 

But  though  Diana  did  well  and  delighted  Ben  Holt, 

Orion  by  no  means  followed  her  example.    Put  to  the  test, 

poor  little  Orion  had  little  of  the  real  giant  about  him. 

He  was  an  ordinary  little  boy,  with  pretty  black  eyes  and 

222 


"A  Pigmy,  I  Call  Him."  223 

a  good-humored,  somewhat  touching  expression  of  face, 
but  Diana  was  anything  but  an  ordinary  girl. 

Orion,  having  slipped  once  or  twice  from  the  back  of 
Greased  Lightning,  became  terribly  afraid  of  the  beast, 
and  always  turned  white  to  his  little  lips  when  he  was 
going  through  his  exercises.  As  a  rule,  Ben  Holt  always 
trained  the  novices  himself,  and  although  he  was  kind  to 
Diana,  he  soon  began  to  have  a  thorough  contempt  for 
little  Orion. 

"He's  a  peaky  little  chap,"  he  said  to  his  wife.  "Why,  he 
ain't  even  worth  the  twenty  shillin's  I  paid  for  'im.  Now, 
the  little  ?un — the  gal — there's  a  fortune  in  her;  but  the 
boy — I  have  no  patience  with  the  boy." 

Meanwhile,  he  began  to  use  rough  language  and  threats 
to  the  child,  and  once  or  twice  he  even  touched  the  little 
fellow  with  his  great  whip.  On  this  occasion  Orion  lost 
every  ecrap  of  nerve  he  possessed,  and  fell  flat  down 
upon  the  sanded  floor  of  the  arena,  shivering  and  cry- 
ing painfully.  Diana  did  not  happen  to  be  present.  When 
she  was  by,  small  child  that  she  was,  Uncle  Ben  never 
showed  at  his  worst,  and  Orion,  looking  round  now  in  vain 
for  his  sister,  gave  himself  up  for  lost. 

"Now,  listen  to  me,  you  young  villain,"  said  the  tyrant; 
"I'll  force  you  to  do  what  I  want.  You  get  on  Greased 
Lightning's  back  this  very  minute." 

Little  Orion  struggled  painfully  to*  his  feet.  A  good- 
natured  girl,  who  stood  near,  tried  to  say  a  word  in  his 
favor. 

"Dont  you  forget  that  he's  very  young,  Ben  Holt," 


224:  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

she  said.  "It  will  be  all  the  worse  for  you  if  you  are  too 
hard  on  the  little  kid." 

"I'll  thank  you  not  to  give  me  any  of  your  sauce,  Susan 
Jenkins/*  was  the  angry  reply. 

Susan  Jenkins,  a  pretty,  slight,  fair-haired  girl,  who 
went  by  the  graceful  name  of  Ariel  in  the  circus  pro- 
gramme, did  not  venture  to  say  anything  further,  but  in 
her  heart  she  resolved  to  give  Diana  a  hint  of  the  true 
state  of  the  case. 

Orion  was  once  more  lifted  on  Greased  Lightning's 
back,  and  the  manager  cracking  his  whip,  the  beautiful 
horse  began  to  trot  round  and  round  the  arena.  At  first 
the  creature  went  fairly  quietly,  and  Orion  managed  to 
keep  his  seat.  His  piteous  white  face,  the  black  shadows 
under  his  eyes,  his  little  trembling  hands,  were  noticed, 
however,  by  Susan.  She  kept  near  on  purpose  and  tried 
to  encourage  him  by  smiles  and  nods.  When  he  passed 
close  to  her  he  heard  her  hearty  voice  saying,  "Well  done, 
little  chap!  You  jest  stick  on  and  you'll  be  as  right  as  a 
trivet." 

A  strangled  sob  by  way  of  answer  rose  in  Orion's  throat. 
Alas!  he  knew  only  too  well  that  he  could  not  stick  on. 
Louder  and  faster  grew  the  crack  of  the  manager's  whip, 
and  faster  and  fleeter  trotted  Greased  Lightning.  It  was 
impossible  for  Orion  to  keep  his  seat;  he  had  nothing  to 
cling  to,  nothing  to  hold  on  to. 

"You  will  have  to  do  all  this  before  the  company  to- 
morrow," called  out  the  manager;  "and  now,  no  more  of 
that  easy  sitting  still.  You  jest  scramble  to  your  feet 
and  stand  on  the  'orse's  back." 


"A  Pigmy,  I  Call  Him."  225 

"I  can't!  I'll  be  killed!"  cried  the  child,  whose  face 
was  white  to  his  very  lips. 

Crack  went  the  great  whip. 

"Stand  up  this  minute,  or  you'll  have  a  taste  of  this 
about  your  legs,"  said  the  man,  in  a  brutal  tone. 

In  deadly  fear  the  little  fellow  struggled  to  his  feet; 
he  looked  wildly  round  him,  the  horse  trotted  forward, 
the  child  fell  on  his  face  and  hands  and  clutched  hold  of 
the  black  mane.  This  enraged  the  spirited  beast,  who 
began  to  dance  and  curvet  about,  and  the  next  moment, 
but  for  the  speedy  interference  of  Susan  Jenkins,  little 
Orion  would  have  measured  his  length  upon  the  floor. 
Even  as  it  was,  he  was  hurt  and  shaken,  and  lay  weeping 
and  trembling  in  her  arms. 

"Now,  Susan,  you  jest  listen  to  me,"  said  Holt,  in  an 
enraged  voice.  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  this  sort  of  thing. 
That  little  chap  has  got  to  learn  his  lesson  or  he  don't 
stay  here;  he  is  not  a  patch  on  his  sister,  but  he  shall 
learn  his  part.  I  has  it  all  arranged  that  them  two  chil- 
dren is  to  appear  in  public  to-morrow,  and  the  boy  must 
help  the  gal.  The  gal  will  do  her  work  right  well,  but 
the  boy  must  help  her.  It's  the  look  of  the  two,  and  they 
so  young,  that  I  reckon  on  to  fill  the  house.  I'm  deter- 
mined that  a  mite  of  that  sort  shan't  beat  me.  He  could 
have  stood  on  the  horse's  back  if  he  had  had  a  mind.  He 
has  disobeyed  me  and  he  shall  be  punished.  You  take  'im 
and  lock  'im  up  in  the  black  cage." 

The  black  cage  was  a  terrible  place,  in  which  some  of 
the  fiercer  animals  were  put  from  time  to  time  to  train 
them.  It  really  consisted  of  a  huge  box  without  windows, 


228  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

but  with  one  or  two  small  ventilating  shafts  in  the  door. 
On  rare  occasions,  when  thoroughly  enraged  the  manager 
had  been  known  to  lock  a  refractory  member  of  the  troupe 
up  there;  but  such  a  punishment  had  never  been  given  to 
a  child  before. 

"Oh,  no,  Ben  Holt !  You  can't  mean  that/'  said  Susan. 
"Why,  it'll  frighten  him  awful,  and  it  do  smell  so  bad  of 
the  last  leopard." 

But  for  this  answer  the  poor  girl  only  got  a  crack  of  the 
whip  round  her  ankles. 

What  might  have  really  happened  at  the  end  is  not 
known;  but  suddenly  at  this  juncture  the  swing  door  was 
flung  open  and  little  Diana  marched  in.  She  held  her 
head  well  back,  and  trotted  boldly  into  the  center  of  the 
arena. 

"Dear,  dear,  what's  all  this  fuss?"  she  cried  out  in  her 
frank,  hearty  voice.  "Uncle  Ben,  is  anybody  a-vexing  of 
you?" 

"Yes,  my  dear;  that  little  brother  of  yours.  You  jest 
tell  him  to  do  his  duty." 

"Oh,  Diana,  Diana!  he'll  killing  me!"  sobbed  little 
Orion.  He  struggled  out  of  Susan's  arms,  flew  to  his 
sister,  flung  the  whole  weight  of  his  little  body  against 
her,  and  gave  way  to  a  fresh  agony  of  howling  and  weep- 
ing. 

Diana's  black  eyes  flashed. 

"You  stay  k'iet,  Orion;  'member  you  is  a  giant,"  she 
said,  speaking  in  a  whisper  to  the  boy.  "Fa  here,  and  I'll 
look  after  you.  You  stay  k'iet.  Now,  Uncle  Ben,  what's 
all  this?" 


"A  Pigmy,  I  Call  Him."  22? 

"Only  that  silly  boy  won't  ride  Greased  Lightning.  He 
won't  even  stand  on  the  'orse,  let  alone  leap  through  the 
rings  and  balloons." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Diana,  her  eyes  gleaming.  "But  I 
can  do  all  that ;  I  can  do  all  that  beautiful.  Dear  G'eased 
Lightning!"  She  unclasped  Orion's  arms  from  her  neck 
and  trotted  across  the  stage.  She  ran  up  to  the  great 
chestnut  and  began  to  stroke  its  nose.  The  creature  licked 
her  little  hand  and  looked  affectionately  down  at  her 
small  figure. 

"Uncle  Ben,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  isn't  going  to  have 
Orion  punished ;  you  isn't  to  do  it ;  give  him  to  me.  You 
can't  do  anything  with  a  little  sild  like  that  if  you  fwighten 
him.  Give  him  to  me,  Uncle  Ben ;  I'll  manage  him." 

"But  what  are  you  but  a  little  child  yourself?"  said 
Uncle  Ben. 

"Yes,  but  I  is  made  different.  Nothing  fwightens  me. 
I  aren't  afeared  of  nothing,  and  I  aren't  afeared  of  you, 
Uncle  Ben,  BO  don't  you  begin  to  think  I  is." 

"Never  seed  eech  a  child."  said  Uncle  Ben,  once  more 
restored  to  good  humor.  "Jest  notice  that  perfect  demon 
of  a  'orse,  how  'e  takes  to  'er.  Never  seed  anything  like 
it  afore.  Well,  missy,  and  if  you  can  manage  your 
brother  I'm  sure  I'll  be  only  too  pleased,  but  jest  you 
remember  this — you  are  both  to  go  before  the  footlights 
to-morrow  for  the  public  to  see.  I  has  never  had  that 
young  'un  on  the  stage  yet,  but  he's  to  ride  with  you  to- 
morrow." 

"So  he  shall,  Uncle  Ben;  course  you  will,  won't  you, 
Orion?" 


328  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"With  you,  Di,"  sobbed  Orion;  "if  you  are  close  to 
me,  Di." 

"Course  I'll  be  close  to  you,  Orion.  I  is  the  gweat 
Diana.  Well,  Uncle  Ben,  you  isn't  going  to  punish  him. 
If  you  punish  him  he  can't  wide,  'cos  he'll  be  ill.  He's  a 
giant." 

"A  pigmy,  I  call  him,"  said  Uncle  Ben. 

"You  talk  silly,"  replied  Diana;  "he's  a  giant,  'cos 
mother  said  he  was,  and  on  starful  nights  you  can  see 
him  shining  in  the  sky." 

"Bless  you,  child,  don't  take  up  any  more  of  my  time 
talking  that  gibberish." 

"Well,  he's  not  to  be  punished,  'cos  I  say  he  isn't.  He's 
coming  with  me  now  to  his  dinner.  Come  'long,  Orion, 
this  minute;  I  has  come  to  fetch  you.  Good-by,  Uncle 
Ben." 

Uncle  Ben  did  not  utter  a  word.  Orion  and  Diana  left 
the  arena,  hand  in  hand. 

"What  about  the  black  cage  now,  mister?"  said  the 
circus  girl,  with  a  sneer. 

"Hang  me,  if  I  know  what  the  world's  coming  to !"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  scratching  his  head.  "I  can  do  nothing  agen 
that  little  gal— she's  the  'cutest,  sharpest,  bravest  little 
cuss  I  ever  come  across." 

"She's  got  the  upper  hand  of  you,  leastways,"  said 
Susan,  with  a  laugh;  "and,  for  my  part,"  she  added,  "I 
am  right  glad.  I  don't  want  that  pore  little  kid  to  be 
used  hard." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"LET'S  PERTEND,"  SAID  DIAWA. 

The  circus  was  crowded  that  evening,  but  neither  Diana 
nor  Orion  put  in  an  appearance.  They  were  to  make 
their  grand  debut  together  on  the  following  day,  for 
hitherto  only  Diana  had  ridden  in  public.  They  were  left 
now  in  the  little  room,  all  alone,  but  as  they  were  together 
that  did  not  matter  at  all  to  them.  Orion's  weary  head 
rested  against  his  sister's  shoulder.  Her  stout  little  arm 
was  flung  round  his  waist;  he  was  fast  asleep,  but  there 
were  traces  of  tears  on  his  pale  cheeks.  It  seemed  a  very 
long  time  now  to  little  Orion  since  all  the  world  had 
altered  for  him.  From  being  a  beautiful  place,  full  of 
lovely  gardens,  and  lovely  homes,  and  kind  people — from 
being  full  of  snug  little  beds  to  sleep  in,  and  nice  food  to 
eat,  and  loving  services  of  all  sorts — it  had  suddenly  turned 
and  shown  its  black  face  to  the  tenderly  nurtured  little 
boy.  Rough  words  were  now  his  portion;  he  had  a  hard 
bed  to  lie  on,  very  insufficient  and  very  poor  food  to  eat, 
and  in  addition  to  these  things,  blows  and  kicks  were 
measured  out  to  him  with  a  very  liberal  hand.  Besides 
these  fearful  things,  he  was  expected  to  do  what  terrified 
him  into  the  very  core  of  his  somewhat  timorous  heart. 
Until  he  had  been  kidnaped  by  Mother  Rodesia  he  had 
229 


230  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

never  known  that  he  was  really  timid,  but  no\r  this  side 
of  his  nature  had  come  to  the  fore.  Day  by  day  he  grew 
more  and  more  frightened,  and  for  the  laat  fortnight  he 
really  lost  his  appetite,  and  his  health  began  to  fail.  He 
refused  to  eat  the  coarse  and  insufficient  food,  and  when 
he  slept  his  sleep  was  broken  by  bad  dreams.  Little  Diana 
knew  that  there  was  something  very  wrong  the  matter, 
but  she  could  not  quite  tell  what.  She  had  a  very  ener- 
getic little  brain,  however,  and  it  was  working  now  hard 
in  Orion's  behalf. 

The  noise  and  shouts  made  by  the  circus  people  were 
distinctly  audible  to  the  two  little  children.  Orion  raised 
his  head,  looked  around  with  a  terrified  glance,  and  began 
to  cry  feebly. 

"Is  Uncle  Ben  coming?  Have  I  got  to  ride  Greased 
Lightning?  Di,  are  you  there?  are  you  close  to  me?" 

"Course  I  is,"  answered  Diana.  "Orion,  don't  you  be 
such  a  silly;  I  is  with  you.  There's  nothing  going  to 
happen." 

"Nothing  ?   Are  you  certain  sure  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"K'ite.  I  is  with  you,  Orion ;  don't  you  be  fwightened ; 
there's  nothing  going  to  happen." 

Orion  leaned  comfortably  back  against  the  fat  little 
shoulder. 

"P'w'aps  you  is  a  bit  hung'y,"  said  Diana.  "There's 
bwead  and  milk  on  the  table;  Aunt  Sawah  left  it.  Shall 
we  eat  our  supper  afore  we  talks?" 

"I  can't  eat,"  replied  Orion.  "I'm  not  a  scrap  hungry; 
I  am  never  hungry  now.  I  wonder  you  can  eat,  Diana." 

"Course  I  can  eat,"  replied  Diana;    "I  aren't  a  silly. 


"Let's  Pertend,"  Said  Diana.  231 

I  has  got  to  wide  G'eased  Lightning.  I  lore  G'eased 
Lightning.  Don't  know  why  you  is  fwightened  of  him." 

"But  I  am  to  ride  Pole  Star,  and  he's  worse  than 
Greased  Lightning,"  replied  Orion. 

"Well,  you  listen  to  me,"  said  Diana,  speaking  in  a 
very  firm  and  authoritative  voice.  "See,  I  am  eating  up 
my  supper,  and  you  had  best  have  some  with  me.  I'll  sit 
by  you  on  the  floor  if  you  like,  and  feed  you  same  as  if 
you  was  a  baby." 

"But  you  are  younger  nor  me,"  said  Orion,  with  a  little 
laugh ;  "seems,  though,  as  if  you  were  much  older." 

"Can't  help  that,"  answered  Diana;  "can't  help  feelin' 
old,  whether  we  is  nor  not.  You  is  almost  a  baby — I  is 
k'ite  a  big  girl.  Now,  open  your  mouth;  I  am  going  to 
pop  in  some  food.  Here's  a  vedy  nice  piece  of  bwead." 

Orion  did  what  Diana  wished,  but  he  could  scarcely  eat. 
Tears  came  suddenly  into  his  eyes. 

"I  wish  I  was  dead,  like  poor  Eub-a-Dub,"  he  eaid, 
after  a  pause;  "I  wish  I  was  lying  in  the  beautiful  gar- 
den, in  the  cemetery  part,  with  Eub-a-Dub." 

"Oh,  don't  be  such  a  silly !"  said  Diana.  "You  has  a 
lot  to  do  afore  you  is  deaded.  Don't  forget  that  you  is  a 
star  and  a  giant." 

"No,  that  I  aren't,"  said  the  child.  "Oh,  Di !  if  mother 
was  here  she  would  be  disappointed,  for  I  am  not  a  star, 
nor  yet  a  giant.  I'm  just  the  frightenest  little  boy  in  the 
world." 

"I  has  thought  of  a  plan,"  said  Diana,  very  calmly. 
"You  shan't  wide  Pole  Star  to-morrow;  you  shall  wide 
G'eased  Lightning." 


232  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"But  I  am  nearly  as  frightened  of  one  horse  as  the 
other." 

"I  know  G'eased  Lightning  k'ite  well  by  this  time," 
continued  Diana,  "and  if  I  are  there  he'll  be  gentle.  You 
shall  wide  him,  and  I'll  wide  Pole  Star." 

"But  I  heard  Uncle  Ben  say  that  I  was  to  have  the  other 
horse." 

"Never  you  mind  that.  What  does  that  si'nify?  I'll 
manage.  I'm  not  fwightened  of  any  horse  that  ever 
walked.  If  I  are  there,  and  if  I  look  at  G'eased  Light- 
ning, he'll  be  as  good  as  good  can  be,  and  you  must 
just  keep  looking  at  me,  Orion,  and  do  the  things  that  I 
do.  When  you  see  me  standing  on  Pole  Star  you  must 
stand  on  your  two  foots  on  G'eased  Lightning,  and  when 
we  fly  faster  and  faster  you  must  still  keep  looking  at  me, 
and  when  I  jump  through  the  wings  you  must  do  the 
same,  and  then,  Orion,  then,  why,  it  will  be  over.  Now, 
bend  down;  I'm  going  to  whisper  something  to  you." 

Orion  bent  his  ear  with  deep  interest. 

"You  don't  mean  it?"  he  said,  when  Diana  had  said 
some  very  energetic  words  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  I  does.  Does  I  say  things  I  doesn't  mean?  I 
means  it  twuly,  twuly.  You  wide  G'eased  Lightning,  and 
then — then  it'll  all  be  over." 

"Oh,  I  really  think  I  can,  if  you  are  quite  sure,"  said 
Orion.  His  little  face  brightened  up,  two  fever  spots 
came-  into  his  cheeks,  his  eyes  shone. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Di  ?"  he  said. 

"Pos'tive  certain.  Now,  lie  down  if  you  like,  and  go  to 
s'eep." 


"Let's  Pertend,"  Said  Diana.  23* 

"I  could  eat  a  bit  more  supper,"  said  Orion.  "I'm  kind 
of  hungry  now  that  you  has  told  me  you  is  positive,  Di." 

"All  wight,"  answered  Diana.  "There's  a  teeny  dwop 
of  milk  left.  Course  I  was  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  my 
trof  was  dry,  but  you  shall  drink  up  the  last  dwop  of 
milk.  Here,  now,  isn't  you  better?" 

"I  am  really,  truly,"  said  Orion;  "but  are  you  quite 
certain  ifs  true,  Diana?" 

"K'ite.  Do  you  think  I  would  tell  a  lie  ?  I  is  the  gweat 
Diana.  You  is  sort  of  forgetting,  Orion." 

"No,  I  aren't,"  said  Orion.    "Oh,  I  am  happy  now !" 

''Well,  lie  down.     I'll  make  up  your  bed,  and  you  shall 
go  to  s'eep.    We  has  a  lot  to  do  to-morrow,  hasn't  we  ?" 
,    "Yes,  a  lot,"  answered  Orion,  with  a  little  laugh.    "Oh, 
Di !   will  they  let  us  ?" 

"Course  they'll  let  us,"  said  Diana.  "I  has  it  all  settled 
beautiful.  Now,  go  to  s'eep,  p'ease,  Orion." 

Orion  did  Tery  soon  enter  the  land  of  dreams,  but  little 
Diana  lay  broad  awake.  She  was  thinking  hard,  and  her 
thoughts  were  wonderfully  sensible  for  such  a  baby. 

The  performance  at  the  circus  had  turned  out  a  great 
success.  Diana  had  already  appeared  once  or  twice  on 
Greased  Lightning's  back,  but  Ben  Holt  now  kept  her  out 
of  sight  on  purpose.  He  had  caused  rumors  to  be  spread 
about  her  wonderful  riding;  his  aim  was  to  make  people 
very  anxious  to  see  her  again.  He  wanted  the  public  to 
have  a  sort  of  craving  for  her.  He  hoped  that  when  she 
finally  appeared,  dressed  as  the  great  Diana,  with  the  bow 
and  arrows,  and  when  little  Orion  accompanied  her  with  his 
girdle  round  his  waist,  and  a  sword  in  his  hand,  and  when 


234  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

the  two  children  rode  round  and  round  the  circus  on  the 
fleetest  horses  in  the  company,  that  they  would  in  very 
truth  bring  down  the  house — in  short,  that  crowds  would 
come  to  see  them. 

Uncle  Ben  was  full  of  hope  with  regard  to  Diana,  but 
he  was  by  no  means  so  sure  as  far  as  Orion  was  concerned. 
If  Orion  would  not  play  his  part  well — and  look  what  he 
was — one  of  the  prettiest  boys  in  England,  and  one  of  the 
very  youngest  who  had  ever  appeared  in  a  circus — why, 
half  the  effect  would  be  lost.  He  began  to  perceive,  how- 
ever, that  cruelty  had  little  or  no  effect  on  the  child,  and 
he  was  inclined  to  allow  that  little  genius,  Diana,  to  man- 
age him  in  her  own  way. 

That  night  when  the  entertainment  had  come  to  an  end, 
and  Uncle  Ben  was  seated  at  his  cozy  supper,  he  was  much 
surprised  when  the  door  of  the  room  was  pushed  suddenly 
open  and  a  small  girl,  clad  in  a  little  white  nightdress, 
made  her  appearance. 

"Is  my  dear  Uncle  Ben  anywhere  about  ?"  called  out  the 
clear  little  voice. 

"My  word!  if  that  ain't  little  Diana,"  eaid  the  man. 
"Come  here  this  minute,  you  little  romp,  and  get  on  my 
knee." 

Diana  flew  up  to  him,  climbed  on  his  knee,  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

"You's  sort  o*  fond  of  me,  I'm  thinking,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  that  I  be,  missy,"  he  answered;  "you  are  the 
'cutest  little  gal  I  ever  seed,  and  you  are  fond  of  pool 
Uncle  Ben,  eh  ?" 

"It  all  apends,"  replied  Diana. 


"Let's  Pertend,"  Said  Diana.  835 

"Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  missy?" 

"It  all  apends,"  she  repeated. 

"Wife,  can  you  understand  her  ?"  questioned  the  man. 

"I  think  ehe  means  that  it  all  depends,  Ben." 

"Oh,  depends — on  what,  now,  my  dear?" 

"On  whether  you  is  good  to  my  bwother  or  not." 

"Oh,  is  that  all  ?  Well,  I'll  be  good  to  'im." 

"He's  awfu'  fwightened  of  you." 

"Well,  he  needn't  be.  If  you'll  manage  him  I  won't  say 
a  word." 

"Won't  you  twuly?  Then  I  love  you,"  said  Diana. 
"Now,  listen  to  me — I  has  been  a-talking  to  him." 

"That's  right,  missy.  Have  a  sip  of  my  stout,  won't 
you?" 

"No;  I  don't  like  it;  it's  black,  nasty  stuff.  Put  it 
away;  I  won't  touch  it.  Well,  now,  listen  to  me,  Uncle 
Ben.  It  apends  altogether  on  whether  you  is  good  to 
Orion  to-morrow  or  not  whether  he  wides  well,  or  whether 
he  wides  badly,  and  what  I  think  is  this " 

"Well,  missy,  you  are  a  very  wise  little  miss  for  your 
age." 

"What  I  think  is  this,"  repeated  Diana.  "Let  Orion 
wide  G'eased  Lightning  and  let  me  wide  Pole  Star." 

"But  you  can  do  anything  with  Greased  Lightning,"  said 
the  man.  "Why,  the  'orse  fairly  loves  you,  and  Pole 
Star's  a  rare  and  wicious  sort  of  beast." 

"I  aren't  fwightened;  that  aren't  me,"  said  Diana,  in 
her  usual  proud,  confident  tone.  "Orion  isn't  to  wide  a 
wicious  eort  of  beast." 


236  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

She  slipped  down  from  the  man's  knees  and  stood  before 
him. 

"It  aren't  me  to  be  fwightened  of  any  horse,"  she  said. 
"I  never  was  and  I  never  will  be." 

"I  believe  yer,  miss,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  gazing  at  her 
with  great  admiration. 

"But  Orion  he  is — he  is  awfu'  fwightened  of  Pole  Star, 
and  he  sha'n't  wide  him.  Now,  G'eased  Lightning,  he'll 
do  anything  for  me,  and  so  what  I  say  is  this — let  Orion 
wide  him,  and  if  he  begins  to  dance  about  and  get  sort  of 
fidgety,  why,  I'll  stwoke  him  down.  You  know  I  could 
pwactice  widing  a  little  on  Pole  Star  in  the  morning." 

"To  be  sure  you  could,  missy." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Ben,"  said  Aunt  Sarah  at  that  moment, 
"you  are  never  a-going  to  let  either  of  them  little  kids 
ride  a  'orse  like  Pole  Star  ?" 

"You  let  me  manage  my  own  affairs,"  said  the  man, 
scowling  angrily. 

"Well,  I  call  it  a  shame,"  answered  the  woman. 

"Poor  Aunt  Sawah !  you  needn't  be  fwightened,"  said 
Diana.  "I  is  never  fwightened ;  that  aren't  me.  I'll  wide 
Pole  Star,  and  Orion,  he'll  wide  G'eased  Lightning,  only 
— now,  Uncle  Ben,  is  you  listening  ?" 

"Yes,  to  be  sure  I  am,  missy,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  taking 
another  deep  draught  from  his  big  glass  of  stout.  "What's 
the  'only/  little  miss  ?" 

"Let's  pertend,"  said  Diana. 

"Pretend  what,  missy?" 

"That  after  Orion  has  done  it,  after  he  has  wode  G'eased 
Lightning,  he  may  go  'way." 

"Go  away,  missy?" 


"Let's  Pertend,"  Said  Diana.  237 

"Yes,  let's  pertend  it.  If  he  thinks  he's  going  away 
after  he  has  done  it,  why,  there's  nothing  he  won't  twy  to 
do,  'cos,  you  see,  he's  longing  to  go.  Let's  say  this  to  him : 
'Orion,  you's  good  boy,  you's  darlin'  boy,  and  when  you 
has  done  what  I  want  you  to,  yo  shall  go  'way' — then  he'll 
do  it  beaut'ful." 

"But  he  ain't  a-going,"  said  the  man;  "he's  my  prop- 
erty. I  has  bought  him;  I  has  bought  you  both.  You 
are  sort  of  slaves  to  me." 

"No,  I  aren't  a  slave  to  nobody,"  said  Diana,  whose 
fierce  little  blood  could  not  brook  this  word. 

"Well,  you  are  a  very  good  little  gal,  and  so  I  am  to 
pretend  to  Orion  that  he's  going  away;  but  now,  when  I 
don't  mean  him  to  go,  that  seems  sort  of  cruel." 

"Oh,  you  leave  it  to  me !"  said  Diana ;  "let  him  think 
he's  going  away,  and  I'll  manage.  Tell  Susan  to  tell  him, 
and  tell  Aunt  Sawah  to  tell  him,  and  you  tell  him,  and 
I'll  tell  him,  and  then  he'll  be  as  good  as  good,  and  as 
bwave — as  bwave  as  a  big  giant." 

"Well,  my  dear,  manage  it  your  own  way,"  said  Uncle 
Ben ;  "but,  all  the  same,  it  seems  a  shame.  I  ain't  what's 
called  a  very  soft  sort  of  man,  but  it  seems  a  shame  to  de- 
ceive a  little  kid;  only  you  manage  it  in  your  own  way, 
little  missy." 

"I'll  manage  it  my  own  way,"  echoed  Diana.  "I'm 
awfu'  'bliged." 

She  tripped  gayly  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

POLE    STAR. 

The  next  day,  at  an  early  hour,  the  different  performers 
had  a  grand  rehearsal  of  their  parts.  It  was  a  dress 
rehearsal.  Holt  was  in  high  spirits,  and  Aunt  Sarah,  who 
stood  just  in  front  of  the  circus,  petted  and  encouraged 
both  Diana  and  Orion  as  much  as  possible.  Orion  felt 
shaky  and  looked  very  white,  but  the  delicioua  thought 
that,  after  he  had  gone  through  those  few  minutes  of  agony, 
he  might  really  be  free  to  run  away,  to  leave  the  dreadful, 
terrible  circus  forever,  sustained  him  wonderfully.  Diana 
had  assured  him  that  this  could  be  managed.  She  had 
told  him  that  Uncle  Ben  had  promised  that  if  he  was  a 
brave  boy  and  sat  well  on  Greased  Lightning,  and  stood  up 
when  necessary,  and,  in  short,  went  through  the  ordeal  set 
him  to  do,  without  a  murmur,  he  should  be  allowed  to  leave 
the  circus  that  evening.  It  mattered  nothing  at  all  to  little 
Orion  that  he  did  not  know  where  he  was  to  go,  that  he 
was  a  penniless  and  very  small,  very  ignorant  boy.  The  one 
object  on  which  all  his  hopes  were  centered  was  the  desire  to 
get  away  from  Uncle  Ben  and  the  terrible  horses  which  he 
was  forced  to  ride. 

"Now,  'member,  you  is  to  be  bwave,"  said  Diana;  "you 
isn't  to  be  fwightened.  If  you's  fwightened,  Uncle  Ben 
238 


Pole  Star.  239 

won't  let  you  go.  You  just  be  as  bwave  as  possible,  and 
never  mind  nobody.  Now,  then,  it's  your  turn.  Come 
'long." 

Orion  looked  charming  in  his  pretty  dress.  He  wore  a 
little  sky-blue  tunic,  with  email,  tight  knickers  of  white; 
his  little  legs  and  feet  were  bare,  round  his  waist  was  a 
crimson  girdle,  and  at  his  side  was  attached  a  toy  sword. 

Diana  wore  a  silk  skirt  and  tights,  her  curling  black  hair 
fell  partly  over  her  forehead ;  her  bold,  black  eyes  were  full 
of  a  strange  mixture  of  frolic,  affection,  and  defiance.  She 
looked  the  personification  of  healthy  life  and  courageous 
fire.  In  her  hand  she  held  the  bow  of  Diana,  and  round 
her  neck  was  slung  a  couple  of  arrows.  She  was  a  won- 
derfully graceful  child  in  all  her  movements,  and  looked 
charming  in  her  picturesque  dress. 

The  call  for  the  children  came,  and  the  two  bounded 
on  the  stage.  The  moment  they  did  so,  Diana  ran  up  to 
Uncle  Ben  and  took  hold  of  the  great  whip  which  he 
carried. 

"You  must  let  me  do  it  my  own  way,"  she  said;  "you 
have  pwomised.  Orion  won't  be  bwave  boy  if  I  don't 
manage  him.  Give  me  that  whip." 

"Oh,  but  I  Bay,  little  missy " 

"Give  me  that  whip,"  repeated  Diana,  flashing  her  eyes 
up  at  the  man.  "I  is  the  gweat  Diana  and  I  order  you. 
Give  me  the  whip;  I'll  slash  it;  I  know  how.  Ah,  here 
comes  G'eased  Lightning.  Come  'long,  you  beauty;  come 
'long,  you  darlin'." 

Diana  ran  fearlessly  up  to  the  horse,  fondled  its  nose, 


240  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

and  looked  into  its  eyes;  the  creature  stood  perfectly  still, 
bent  its  graceful  head,  and  licked  her  little  hand. 

"And  it's  a  perfect  brute  to  everyone  else,"  thought  Uncle 
Ben  to  himself,  but  this  time  he  did  not  utter  a  word. 

The  horse  stood  perfectly  motionless  until  little  Orion 
was  mounted  on  its  back. 

"Now,  G'eased  Lightning,  you  has  got  to  be  a  good 
horse,"  said  Diana,  speaking  to  him  in  a  confiding  voice. 
"You  isn't  to  fwighten  Orion;  'member  he's  a  giant,  and 
it's  a  gweat  honor  for  you  to  carry  him,  'cos  most  times  he 
lives  up  in  the  stars." 

"Come,  missy,  we  have  no  time  for  that  sort  of  non- 
sense," said  Uncle  Ben,  who  began  to  get  impatient.  "Give 
me  back  my  whip." 

"No ;  I  is  going  to  slash  the  whip.  Come,  G'eased  Light- 
ning ;  twot,  twot,  p'ease." 

The  horse  began  to  amble  gently  forward.  Little  Diana 
went  and  stood  by  Uncle  Ben's  side. 

"Fs  managing,"  she  said ;  "you  shall  have  whip  tonight ; 
but  Fs  managing  now." 

The  other  performers  stood  round  in  breathless  silence. 
Orion  kept  his  seat  manfully.  Greased  Lightning  was  as 
gentle  as  a  lamb. 

"Good  boy!"  called  out  Diana;  "vedy  good  little  boy. 
Good  horse,  G'eased  Lightning !  you  is  a  vedy  good  horse. 
Now  then,  go  faster."  Diana  gave  the  whip  a  crack. 

The  horse  looked  at  her  out  of  his  big,  intelligent  eyes, 
and  began  to  trot,  but  still  very  gently,  round  and  round 
the  circus. 

"Good  boy,"  repeated  Diana ;  "good  horse !    Now  then, 


Pole  Star.  241 

Orion,  get  up  on  to  yous  two  foots;  don't  be  fwightened. 
'Member  what  will  happen  when  it's  over.  Get  up  on  to 
yous  foots  this  minute." 

Poor  little  Orion  scrambled  in  deadly  terror  on  to  his 
small  feet;  but  the  horse  still  went  swift  and  smooth, 
neither  budging  nor  turning  to  the  right  or  the  left.  Diana 
once  again  cracked  her  whip.  He  went  faster  and  faster. 
Orion  began  to  lose  his  fear ;  he  even  laughed  with  excite- 
ment; the  rose  bloom  came  out  on  his  delicate  little  face. 
The  terrible  hoops  were  brought,  and  the  child  made  a 
nanful  effort  to  get  through  them.  Diana  cracked  her  whip 
and  called  out  and  encouraged  him,  and  finally  brought 
him  successfully  through  the  ordeal.  He  was  taken  off 
the  stage  wet  with  perspiration,  and  trembling  all  over,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  had  a  wild  sort  of  triumph  in  his  little 
heart. 

"I  did  it  well ;  didn't  I,  Aunt  Sarah  ?"  he  said. 

"You  did  it  splendidly,  my  little  love,"  said  Aunt  Sarah ; 
"but  I  never  did  see  a  little  gal  like  your  sister.  Oh,  merci- 
ful Heavens !  that  man  ain't  never  a-going  to  let  her  ride 
Pole  Star !" 

A  black  horse  of  immense  strength  and  size  was  now 
brought  upon  the  stage.  This  horse  seemed  to  paw  the 
air  as  he  walked;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  full  of  a 
dangerous  light. 

"Remember  it's  your  own  fault,  missy,"  said  Uncle  Ben ; 
"this  ain't  the  'orse  I'd  give  you.  I  don't  want  any  harm 
to  come  to  you;  but  if  you  insist  on  that  little  chap,  that 
ain't  a  patch  on  you,  riding  Greased  Lightning,  why,  there 
ain't  nothing  for  it  but  for  you  to  ride  Pole  Star." 


343  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"You  don't  'uppose  I's  fwightened  of  Pole  Star?  Why. 
he's  a  weal  beauty/'  said  Diana. 

"He's  the "  The  man  arrested  the  words  on  his  lips. 

Diana  had  thrown  down  her' whip  and  rushed  across  the 
stage.  With  just  the  same  fearless  confidence  as,  half  an 
hour  before,  she  had  gone  up  to  Greased  Lightning — she 
now  approached  Pole  Star. 

"You's  pwetty,  you's  a  darlin',"  she  said.  She  held  out 
her  tiny  brown  hand.  "Give  me  a  bit  of  sugar,  somebody," 
she  demanded. 

A  girl  who  stood  near  ran  away  to  fetch  a  lump.  The 
child  offered  it  to  the  horse.  He  looked  at  her,  pawed  the 
ground  restlessly,  and  then,  stooping,  licked  the  sugar  off 
her  hand  as  tenderly  as  if  he  were  a  kitten. 

"Well,  I  never !"  said  Uncle  Ben,  breathing  a  great  sigh 
of  relief. 

"It's  a  beauty  horse,"  repeated  Diana;  "I  like  it  better 
nor  G'eased  Lightning.  Pole  Star,  I's  going  to  wide  you; 
you's  a  dear,  good  horse."  She  stroked  the  creature's  nose 
— the  fiery  eyes  grew  gentle —  a  moment  later  the  child  was 
mounted  on  its  back. 

"'Now,  gee  up,  gee  up !"  called  Diana.  "P'ease,  "Uncle 
Ben,  don't  cwack  your  whip;  I  can  manage  Pole  Star." 
She  pulled  at  the  reins,  and  the  creature  began,  at  first 
gently  and  then  more  rapidly,  to  run  round  and  round  the 
stage.  After  all,  notwithstanding  her  bravery,  it  was  an 
ordeal,  for  Pole  Star  could  run  double  as  fast  as  Greased 
Lightning.  Soon,  from  running  he  seemed  to  take  to  fly- 
ing, and  little  Diana  gasped  and  lost  her  breath;  but  she 


Pole  Star.  243 

eat  firm  as  a  statue,  and  never  touched  a  hair  of  tk»  crea- 
ture's mane. 

"Now,  Pole  Star/'  she  called  out,  when  the  horse  had 
stopped  for  want  of  breath;  "I's  going  to  stand  on  you, 
and  you  must  be  vedy  good."  She  patted  the  animal  on 
its  head;  then  she  scrambled  to  her  feet,  and,  holding  the 
reins  taut,  stood  firm  as  an  arrow,  while  the  creature  once 
more  flew  round  the  stage.  When  her  ride  was  orer  she 
had  won  the  applause  of  the  whole  house. 

After  this  Diana  and  Orion  were  taken  away  to  rest  until 
the  evening.  They  were  given  the  best  food  and  a  great 
deal  of  petting  from  Aunt  Sarah.  As  to  Diana,  she  was  in 
excellent  spirits. 

"Oh,  please,  Di;  nothing  will  make  you  stop,  nothing 
will  make  you  break  your  word?"  said  little  Orion  once 
to  her. 

"What  I  pwomise  I  do,"  replied  Diana,  with  dignity. 

And  so  the  hours  flew  by,  and  at  last  the  time  arrived 
when  the  children  were  to  appear  before  the  footlights. 

The  huge  circus  tent  was  packed  to  the  highest  gallery. 
There  was,  in  short,  not  standing  room  in  the  audience 
part  of  the  house.  Uncle  Ben,  in  the  highest  spirits,  was 
darting  here  and  there  behind  the  wings,  giving  directions, 
gesticulating,  ordering,  rearranging.  Little  Diana  flew  up 
to  him  and  took  his  hand. 

"What  is  you  'cited  about  ?"  she  asked.  "Is  you  f wight- 
ened  'bout  anything  ?" 

"No,  little  gal,  no — that  is,  provided  you  and  your 
brother  do  your  parts  well." 


244  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"We  has  pwomised,"  said  Diana,  with  great  firmness; 
"you  needn't  be  fwightened;  we  has  pwomised." 

The  children  were  to  appear  as  the  last  item  of  the  first 
part  of  the  performance.  Uncle  Ben  felt  that  on  them 
really  turned  the  success  of  the  evening.  At  last  the  crucial 
moment  arrived.  Two  beautiful  horses  were  led  into  the 
circus,  and  immediately  afterwards  little  Diana,  holding 
Orion  by  the  hand,  skipped  on  to  the  stage.  She  came 
lightly  forward,  almost  up  to  the  footlights,  dropped  a 
somewhat  pert  little  courtesy,  turned  round,  and,  taking 
Orion's  hand,  danced  up  to  where  the  two  horses  were  im- 
patiently pawing  the  ground.  Uncle  Ben,  with  his  big 
whip  in  his  hand,  dressed  in  evening  clothes,  was  standing 
at  one  side.  A  man  came  forward  to  help  Diana  to  mount 
Pole  Star — another  gave  his  hand  to  Orion. 

"  'Member,  Orion,  you  has  pwomised,  and  it  all  apends," 
said  Diana,  in  a  low,  but  very  clear,  voice. 

The  little  fellow  looked  at  her.  Her  spirited  action,  the 
splendid  color  in  her  cheeks,  the  glow  of  excitement  in  her 
great  big  eyes,  inspired  him.  He  would  not  ride  for  those 
horrid  people  who  were  crowding  all  the  seats  in  front,  those 
horrid,  terrible  people  who  seemed  to  rise  from  the  floor  to 
the  ceiling.  He  did  not  care  anything  about  those  faces, 
those  cruel,  staring  eyes,  those  smiling  lips;  but  he  did 
care  for  Diana.  He  would  ride  his  best  for  her. 

"Steady,  G'eased  Lightning,"  said  the  little  girl;  "you's 
to  be  good  horse,  'member.  Now,  Pole  Star,  beauty,  darlin", 
do  just  what  Diana  wants." 

The  horses  began  to  canter  forward,  going  briskly  and 
swiftly  side  by  side.  Greased  Lightning's  coal-black  eye  was 


Pole  Star.  245 

fixed  upon  Diana  as  she  sat  on  Pole  Star's  back.  Pole  Star 
felt  the  feather-weight  of  the  hot  hand  on  his  mane,  the 
touch  of  the  little  feet  somewhere  near  his  neck.  There 
was  a  magnetic  current  of  sympathy  between  the  horse  and 
the  child. 

"Think  you's  a  giant,"  she  said  once  to  Orion,  as  she 
shot  past  him  in  the  race. 

The  crowd,  speechless  with  astonishment  and  delight  for 
the  first  moment  or  two,  now  began  to  clap  and  cheer 
loudly.  Crack  went  Uncle  Ben's  whip.  The  circus  girls 
in  the  wings,  the  men,  the  clown,  all  watched  the  little  pair 
with  beating  hearts.  Diana  they  felt  sure  of,  but  what  of 
little  Orion?  And  yet  a  change  had  come  over  the  child. 
His  face  was  no  longer  pale ;  some  of  Diana's  spirit  seemed 
to  have  entered  into  his  soul. 

The  signal  came  for  the  pair  to  stand  upon  the  bare 
backs  of  their  horses.  Little  Orion  scrambled  as  quickly 
and  nimbly  to  his  feet  as  Diana  herself.  He  caught  the 
reins;  crack  again  went  the  whip;  the  horses  flew  round 
and  round.  Now  and  then  Diana  said  a  soft  word  to 
Greased  Lightning;  now  and  then  she  stamped  her  small 
foot  on  Pole  Star's  neck.  Each  movement,  each  glance  of 
the  child,  seemed  to  thrill  through  the  willing  beast.  In- 
comprehensible as  it  may  seem,  both  these  wild,  half-tamed 
creatures  loved  her.  They  kept  straight,  veering  neither 
to  left  nor  right,  for  her  sake. 

The  first  part  of  the  performance  went  safely  through, 
but  now  came  the  more  difficult  and  dangerous  time.  The 
children  were  now  not  only  to  ride  the  horses  standing,  but 
they  were  obliged  to  ride  holding  one  foot  in  the  air,  then 


246  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

to  keep  on  their  steeds  standing  on  tiptoe,  and  finally  they 
had  to  spring  through  great  rings  made  of  tissue  paper, 
and  leap  again  upon  the  horses  as  they  galloped  through. 
Diana  performed  her  task  with  unfailing  exactness,  always 
reaching  the  horse's  back  at  the  right  moment,  springing 
up,  sitting  down,  standing  first  on  one  foot,  then  on  the 
other,  being  apparently  on  wires,  afraid  of  nothing,  tri- 
umphant through  all.  Orion  made  a  gallant  effort  to  follow 
her  example.  In  two  minutes  now  the  whole  thing  would 
be  over. 

"Don't  be  fwightened,  Orion;  time's  nearly  up,"  whis- 
pered the  gay,  brave  little  voice  in  his  ear. 

The  horses  flew,  the  children  moved  as  if  they  were 
puppets,  and  all  might  now  have  been  well  if  at  that  mo- 
ment Diana  herself — Diana  the  fearless,  the  brave,  the 
unconquerable — had  not  slipped,  slipped  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  she  was  springing  through  one  of  the  rings. 
The  horse  galloped  on  without  her,  and  she  lay  prone  upon 
the  floor  of  the  circus.  Uncle  Ben  rushed  madly  to  the 
rescue,  and  before  Orion's  horse  had  reached  the  spot  he 
had  caught  the  child  in  his  arms.  She  was  stunned  by  the 
fall,  and  lay  white  as  death  in  his  embrace.  The  house 
thought  the  fall  had  killed  her,  and  there  was  a  horrified 
murmur;  but  Diana  was  only  stunned.  In  a  moment  she 
raised  her  cheery  little  voice. 

"I's  awf u'  sossy ;  I's  all  wight  now/'  she  said.  "Where's 
Pole  Star?" 

"Nay,  little  gal,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  knowing  well  the 
temper  of  the  house,  "you  must  do  no  more  to-night.  The 
company,  I  know,  will  excuse  you." 


Pole  Star.  S47 

Seating  the  child  on  his  shoulder,  and  patting  her  hand 
affectionately,  as  if  he  were  her  father,  he  brought  little 
Diana  to  the  front. 

"I  hope,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  called  out,  "that  you 
will  excuse  this  great  lady  huntress  tonight.  But  if  you 
wish  her  to  take  another  turn  round  on  the  back  of  the 
great  Pole  Star,  she  is  willing  to  comply." 

"No !"  shouted  voice  after  voice  in  the  gallery ;  "let  little 
missy  off.  We'll  come  to  see  little  missy  another  night. 
Three  cheers  for  little  missy !" 

The  next  moment  Diana  and  Orion  found  themselves  at 
the  back  of  the  stage. 

"Is  it  true,  Di?"  gasped  Orion.    "Is  it  all  over?" 

"Yes ;  it's  all  over,"  answered  little  Diana.  She  leaned 
against  the  wall.  "I's  a  bit  giddy,"  she  said;  "but  I'll  be 
all  wight  by  and  by." 

Aunt  Sarah,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  brought  the  child  a 
restorative. 

"Drink  this,  little  love,"  she  said ;  "you'll  soon  be  much 
better,  I'm  sure." 

The  curtain  had  fallen  on  the  first  half  of  the  perform- 
ance, and  Uncle  Ben  came  up  in  a  huge  good  humor. 

"Missy,  I  hope  yon  ain't  hurt,"  he  said. 

"Hurt?"  answered  Diana.  "What  do  a  fall  matter?"  I's 
as  wight  as  wain.  Didn't  Orion  do  well,  Uncle  Ben?" 

"Yes,  all  things  considering"  said  Uncle  Ben.  "We  has 
a  full  house,  missy,  and  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you.  Now 
you  had  best  go  straight  to  bed.  Sarah,  take  the  kids  off 
and  give  them  a  good  supper,  for  they  has  earned  it." 


348  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Aunt  Sarah  took  Diana's  hand  and  led  her  to  their  bed- 
Toom. 

"But  aren't  we  going  away  now  ?"  said  Orion. 

Aunt  Sarah  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  beds  with 
a  white  face. 

"Come  to  me,  little  missy,"  she  said  to  Diana, 

The  child  went  to  her. 

"I's  k'ite  well,"'  she  said,  "only  a  little  giddy.  Why, 
Aunt  Sarah,  you's  kying." 

"I  thought  you  were  dead  for  a  minute,  my  little  miss; 
you  that  is  the  image  of  my  Eachel,  what  the  good  God  took 
from  me.  I  thought  you  were  dead,  and  it  'most  broke  my 
'eart — oh,  little  missy,  little  darlin' !" 

"But,  Diana,  aren't  we  going  away  ?"  said  Orion.  "You 
promised,  and  you  never  broke  your  word." 

"I  pwomised,  and  I  never  break  my  word,"  said  Diana. 
"Yes,  Orion,  yes ;  we  is  going  away." 

"I  declare,"  said  Aunt  Sarah,  "I  believe  it  would  be  the 
right  thing  to  do.  It  would  kill  me  if  you  was  killed, 
missy — and  them  'orses !" 

"They  is  darlin's,"  interrupted  Diana. 

"Well,  go  to  sleep  now,  and  I'll  fetch  some  supper,"  said 
Aunt  Sarah. 

She  shut  the  door  behind  the  children,  returning  in  a  few 
minutes  with  bowls  of  bread  and  milk.  Diana  sat  listlessly 
down  on  the  nearest  bench. 

"I's  awfu'  s'eepy,"  she  said. 

She  did  not  quite  know  what  was  the  matter  with  her; 
it  seemed  as  if  something  had  suddenly  knocked  all  her 
spirit  away.  She  did  not  know  herself  without  the  brave 


Pole  Star.  249 

spirit  which  God  had  put  into  her  little  breast.  Orion 
gazed  at  her  anxiously. 

"You  do  look  queer,"  he  said;  "your  eyes  are  bigger 
than  ever,  and  they  stare  so.  What's  the  matter,  Di  ?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Diana. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  eat  your  supper?" 

'Ts  wather  sick,"  said  Diana ;  "I  don't  want  to  eat.  You 
had  best  eat  all  you  can,  Orion." 

"Yes,  I  had  best,"  answered  Orion,  "  'cos  I  won't  have 
strength  to  run  away  if  I  hasn't  plenty  of  food." 

He  began  to  eat  up  his  own  basin  of  bread  and  milk,  and, 
as  it  was  not  too  large,  he  thought  he  might  attack  Diana's 
also ;  then  he  gave  her  an  anxious  glance.  She  was  sitting 
strangely  still,  her  hands  lying  idly  in  her  lap,  her  eyes 
staring  straight  at  the  opposite  wall. 

"  'Member  we  is  going  away,  and  that  you  promised,"  he 
said.  "Isn't  it  time  for  us  to  be  off?" 

"Yes,  Orion,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  drink  off  this  teeny  drop  of  milk;  it  will 
strengthen  you."  He  brought  the  bowl  to  Diana,  who 
sipped  a  few  spoonfuls ;  but  then  she  shook  her  head. 

"I's  sick,"  she  said;  "it  aren't  good  to  eat  when  you  is 
sick." 

"Well,  do  come  now,"  said  Orion.  "If  you  don't  go  at 
once  they  will  find  us;  and  you  promised,  and  you  never 
broke  your  word  yet." 

"I  underland,"  said  Diana ;  "I  would  not  break  my  word ; 
that  would  be  mean." 

"Well,  let  us  go  now." 

Diana  slipped  off  the  little  bench  on  which  she  had  seated 


250  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

herself.  She  was  still  in  her  circus  dress;  her  little  bow 
was  hung  at  her  side,  her  arrow  slung  round  her  neck. 
Orion  was  also  in  his  pretty  dress,  with  his  tiny  sword  and 
belt,  his  blue  jacket  and  little  white  knickers. 

"Let's  put  on  our  shoes,"  he  said ;  "we  can't  go  far  in  bare 
feet." 

"We  can't  go  far  in  bare  foots,"  echoed  Diana,  in  a 
dreary  sort  of  voice.  "I's  s'eepy.  Shall  we  wun  away  in 
the  morning,  Orion?" 

"No;  to-night!  to-night!"  he  said,  in  terror.  *  You'll 
break  your  promise  if  we  don't  go  to-night." 

"All  wight,"  she  answered. 

He  brought  her  shoes,  slipped  them  on  her  feet,  buttoned 
them,  and  put  on  his  own;  then  he  took  her  hand  in  his. 
They  opened  the  door  of  their  bedroom  and  ran  down  a 
long  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  was  another  door;  it  was 
on  the  latch.  Orion  opened  it,  and  the  little  children  found 
themselves  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  There  were  no  people 
about  to  see  them,  even  Aunt  Sarah  was  far  away  in  one  of 
the  wings. 

"There !  we  is  safe,"  said  Orion.  "We  has  runned  away, 
and  we  are  safe." 

"We  has  wunned  away  and  we  is  safe,"  echoed  Diana, 
in  that  dreary  little  voice.  "But  Orion,  I's  drefful  s'eepy." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Orion ;  "we'll  sleep  in  the  fields." 

"We'll  s'eep  in  the  fields,"  echoed  Diana,  in  a  vague 
manner. 

Orion  took  her  hand ;  they  ran  as  fast  as  they  could  down 
a  shady  lane,  for  the  great  circus  tent  had  been  put  outside 
the  town. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  MILKMAN. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer's  night,  and  as  the  children  ran, 
Orion  looked  up  at  the  stars. 

"Why,  it's  a  starful  night  I"  he  cried,  in  a  joyful  voice, 
"and  there's  me.  Do  look  at  me,  Di!  There  I  am  up  in 
the  sky,  ever  BO  big  and  'portant." 

"So  you  is,"  said  Diana,  laughing  and  then  checking 
herself.  "Is  it  far  to " 

"To  where,  Di?" 

"To  the  garding,"  said  Diana ;  "to  the  dead-house  where 
Eub-a-Dub  is.  Let's  go  and  sit  on  the  little  bench  and  see 
the  dead  'uns — let's  count  'em;  I  wonder  how  many  there 
is !"  She  stopped  suddenly  and  gazed  around  her. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Orion,  in  some  alarm.  "We 
are  nowhere  near  the  garden.  Don't  you  know  where  we 
are,  Diana?" 

"Yes,  I  do  now,  course,"  she  answered,  with  a  laugh. 
"I  think  I  was  dweaming ;  it's  my  head ;  ifs  keer.  I  want 
to  s'eep  awfu'." 

"Well,  here  are  the  fields,"  said  Orion ;  "here's  a  beautiful 
green  field,  and  the  moon  is  shining  on  it.  Oh,  and  there's 
a  hole  in  the  hedge ;  let's  creep  in." 

"Let's  k'eep  in,"  said  Diana. 
251 


252  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

They  pushed  their  way  through  the  hole  and  found  them- 
selves in  a  clover  field.  The  clover,  slightly  wet  with  dew, 
felt  very  refreshing  to  their  hot  little  feet. 

"Isn't  this  'licious?"  said  Diana.  "Let's  lie  down  on 
the  g'een  g'ass ;  let's  s'eep  here ;  I's  awf u'  s'eepy." 

"It's  very  near  the  circus,"  said  Orion.  "I'm  rather 
frightened  for  fear  Uncle  Ben  will  find  us." 

"No,  he  won't;  it's  all  wight,"  said  Diana. 

She  allowed  her  little  brother  to  lead  her  as  far  as  the 
hedge,  and  then  nothing  would  persuade  her  to  go  any  fur- 
ther. Down  on  the  damp  grass  she  flung  herself,  and  then 
next  moment  was  fast  asleep. 

Orion,  aged  six,  did  not  think  it  wrong  for  Diana  to 
sleep  on  the  wet  grass.  The  moon  shone  all  over  her  bare 
little  legs.  She  folded  her  arms  when  she  lay  down,  and 
now  there  was  not  a  stir,  nor  a  movement  from  her. 

Far  away,  or  at  least  it  seemed  far  away  to  little  Orion, 
he  could  see  the  blinking  lights  of  the  town,  and  when  he 
stood  on  tiptoe  he  could  also  see  the  lights  of  the  merry-go- 
rounds  and  the  other  accompaniments  of  the  great  circus. 
He  knew  that  he  was  dreadfully  near  his  tyrants,  and  he 
longed  beyond  words  to  awaken  Diana  and  make  her  go 
farther  away;  but  she  was  asleep — dead  tired.  He  never 
could  master  her.  There  was  nothing,  therefore,  but  for 
him  to  lie  down  also,  close  to  her. 

Accordingly,  he  flung  himself  on  the  grass,  laid  his  head 
on  her  shoulder,  nestling  up  close  to  her  for  warmth  and 
protection,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  had  also  forgotten  his 
fears,  and  was  calmly  living  in  the  blessed  land  of  dreams. 
The  great  Orion  overhead  looked  down  on  his  tiny  name- 


The  Milkman.  253 

sake,  and  the  little  boy  dreamt  that  he  was  a  giant  in  very 
truth,  and  that  he  and  Diana  were  fighting  their  way 
through  the  world. 

The  children  slept,  and  presently  the  creatures  of  the 
night  came  out — the  owls,  and  the  bats,  and  the  night 
moths — and  looked  with  wonder  at  the  queer  little  pair 
lying  prone  amongst  the  green  clover.  Thousands  of  won- 
derful night  noises  also  began  to  awaken  in  all  directions — 
the  merry  chirp  of  the  cricket,  the  whir  of  the  bat  on  its 
circling  flight,  the  hum  of  the  moths — but  the  children 
heard  nothing,  although  the  creatures  of  the  night  were 
curious  about  these  strange  little  beings  who,  by  good 
rights,  ought  not  to  be  sharing  their  kingdom. 

At  last,  just  when  the  first  peep  of  dawn  began  to  tinge 
the  east,  little  Orion  opened  his  eyes  and  rubbed  them  hard. 
With  a  great  rush  memory  returned  to  him.  He  had  run 
away ;  he  had  ridden  Greased  Lightning  and  had  not  fallen 
from  his  back ;  his  terrible  life  in  the  circus  was  at  an  end. 
Uncle  Ben  was  nowhere  near  to  chide  him.  He  and  Diana 
had  got  off;  but  it  was  true  that  they  had  not  put  a  great 
distance  between  themselves  and  Uncle  Ben.  Perhaps 
Uncle  Ben,  who  had  promised  that  he  might  go  away  if  he 
did  his  part  well,  might  change  his  mind  in  the  morning. 
It  was  most  important  that  he  and  his  sister  should  go 
farther  away  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Accordingly,  he  proceeded  to  wake  Diana.  Diana  was 
very  sound  asleep  indeed.  He  could  see  her  face  distinctly, 
for  the  first  faint  return  of  day  was  spreading  a  tender 
glow  over  it.  She  did  not  look  pale ;  there  was  a  hot  spot 
on  either  cheek — a  spot  of  vivid  rose. 


254  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"I  am  cold  enough,"  thought  the  little  fellow,  "but  Diana 
seems  warm.  Wake  up,  Di,  wake  up !"  he  said.  "We  has 
runned  away,  but  we  has  not  run  far  enough.  Wake  up, 
Di,  and  let's  go  on." 

Diana  did  not  stir  at  all  at  his  first  summons.  He  spoke 
loudly,  looking  around  him  as  he  did  so  in  some  terror. 
A  night  owl,  preparing  to  go  home,  was  seated  on  a  tree 
near  by.  The  owl  looked  at  Orion  and  hooted  in  a  very 
melancholy  manner.  His  voice  seemed  to  say : 

"I  never  saw  two  greater  little  fools  than  you  children  in 
all  my  life/' 

Orion  felt  afraid  of  the  owl.  Having  failed  to  awaken 
Diana  by  words,  he  proceeded  to  shake  her.  This  device 
succeeded.  She  opened  her  great,  big,  sleepy  eyes  and 
stared  around  her  in  bewilderment. 

"So  you  is  our  little  mother  now,  Iris?"  she  said.  "All 
wight ;  I's  coming." 

She  sat  up  on  her  grassy  bed  and  rubbed  her  eyes,  then 
stared  at  Orion  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  said  Orion.  "We  are  in 
awful  danger  here.  Uncle  Ben  may  catch  us  any  minute." 

"Who's  Uncle  Ben  ?"  asked  Diana. 

"Why,  Di!  how  very  queer  you  are.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber Uncle  Ben,  the  awful  man  who  has  the  circus  ?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Diana.  "Is  it  true  that  Rub-a-Dub's 
dead?" 

"Oh,  Di !  Rub-a-Dub  died  weeks  ago.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter about  a  mouse?  I'm  frightened  about  Uncle  Ben.  If 
he  catches  us  he'll  change  his  mind,  perhaps,  and  I  cannot 
ride  Greased  Lightning  again.  Don't  speak  so  queer,  Di. 


The  Milkman.  255 

Do  rouse  yourself.  We  must  get  out  of  this  as  fast  as  we 
can." 

"As  fast  as  we  can/'  echoed  Diana.  "All  wight,  Orion; 
I's  k'ite  sati'fied." 

"Well,  come,  then,"  said  Orion;  "get  up." 

"I  don't  think  I  care  to/' 

"But  we  can't  run  away  if  you  are  lying  there." 

"No  more  we  can,"  said  Diana.  She  laughed  again. 
"Isn't  it  fun?"  she  said.  "And  so  Rub-a-Dub  isn't  dead 
after  all?" 

"Yes;  of  course  he  is." 

"Orion,  look !"  said  the  child ;  "look  I" 

"Look  at  what  ?"  answered  the  little  fellow.  "Oh,  Diana  I 
don't  say  it's  Uncle  Ben !" 

"I  don't  know  nothing  'bout  Uncle  Ben ;  but  didn't  you 
see  something  flash  there? — something  white,  just  over 
there?  I  know  who  it  was;  it  was  mother.  Mother  has 
gone  to  the  angels,  but  she  has  come  back.  Mother ! 
mother !  come  here !  Call  her,  Orion ;  call  her,  call  her !" 

"Mother!  mother!"  said  the  little  boy;  "mother,  come 
here !" 

But  there  was  no  answer  to  this  cry,  which,  on  the  part 
of  Orion  at  least,  was  full  of  agony.  No  answer  either 
from  the  heaven  above  or  the  earth  beneath. 

"It  was  a  mistake,  I  s'pect,"  said  Diana.  "Mother  is  in 
heaven;  she's  a  beautiful  angel,  singing  loud.  Well,  let's 
come  'long."  She  staggered  to  her  feet,  and,  supported  by 
Orion,  began  to  walk  across  the  field.  "Let's  go  into  the 
garding,"  she  said. 

Poor  little  Orion  was  quite  in  despair. 


256  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"We  are  miles  from  the  garden,"  he  said.  "I  think  you 
have  gone  silly." 

"S'pect  I  has/'  said  Diana.    "What  fun !" 

•'And  you  have  got  such  a  queer  look  on  your  face." 

"A  k'eer  look  on  my  face  ?"  repeated  Diana. 

"Yes;  and  your  eyes,  they  are  ever  so  big;  they  frighten 
me." 

"My  eyes  k'ite  fwighten  you,  poor  little  boy,"  said  Diana. 
"Well,  let's  wun;  let's  get  to  the  garding.  Why'  it's  the 
day  mother  went  away  to  the  angels,  and  we  has  got  no 
lessons.  Where's  Iris?  I  want  Iris." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Orion.  "Oh,  Di !  what  is  to  become  of 
us?  You  frighten  me." 

"K'ite  fwighten  poor  little  boy,"  echoed  Diana.  "I's 
sossy,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I's  giddy  in  my  head.  Does  this 
way  lead  to  garding,  Orion  ?" 

"No.  What  are  we  to  do?"  said  Orion.  "Oh,  I  am  so 
frightened!"  He  really  was.  Diana's  strange  behavior 
was  more  than  he  could  understand.  "Oh,  I'm  so  bitter 
hungry !"  he  cried.  He  flung  himself  on  the  grass. 

Diana  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  expression 
on  her  face. 

"Why,  you  is  a  poor  little  boy,"  she  said.  "Now,  if  you'll 
take  my  hand  we'll  go  indoors,  and  Fortune  will  give  us  a 
lovely  bekfus.  Come,  Orion,  don't  be  fwightened,  poor  lit- 
tle boy." 

They  walked  across  the  field.  By  this  time  the  sun  was 
up  and  the  place  felt  warm  and  dry.  Little  Orion,  shiver- 
ing in  his  queer  circus  dress,  was  glad  of  this,  and  a  faint 
degree  of  returning  courage  came  into  his  heart. 


The  Milkman.  ->;* 

Diana  did  not  seem  to  feel  anything  at  all.  She  walked 
along,  singing  as  she  walked. 

"We's  going  to  the  dead-house,"  she  said.  "Rub-a-Dub's 
dead. 

"Never  know   fear, 

Little  dear; 
Bub-aDub's  dead." 

"Oh,  don't,  Di !  You  make  me  feel  so  frightened,"  said 
Orion.  "Why  do  you  talk  like  that?  Can't  you  'member 
nothing  ?" 

"Course  I  'member/'  said  Diana.   "Rub-a-Dub's  dead. 
"You'll  never  fear  any  more, 

Little  dear; 
Good-by,  Kub-a-Dub." 

"Come  this  way,"  said  Orion,  taking  her  hand. 

She  was  quite  willing  to  follow  him,  although  she  did 
not  in  the  least  know  where  she  was  going. 

"S'pect  I  aren't  well,"  she  said  at  last.  "Don't  be 
fwightened,  poor  little  boy.  S'pect  I  aren't  k'ite  well." 

"I's  so  hungry,"  moaned  Orion. 

"Well,  let's  go  into  the  house ;  let's  have  bekf us.  Where's 
Fortune?  Come  'long,  Orion;  come  'long." 

They  had  reached  the  highroad  now,  and  were  walking 
on,  Orion's  arm  flung  round  Diana's  waist.  Suddenly, 
rattling  round  a  corner  of  the  country  road,  came  a  man 
with  a  milk  cart.  He  was  a  very  cheerful-looking  man 
with  a  fat  face.  He  had  bright  blue  eyes  and  a  kindly 
mouth. 

"Hullo !"  he  said,  when  he  saw  the  two  little  children 
fuming  to  meet  him.  "Well,  I  never  !  And  what  may  you 
two  be  doing  out  at  this  hour?" 


258  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Diana  gazed  up  at  him. 

"I's  going  to  the  garding,"  she  said.  "I's  to  meet  Iris 
in  garding.  We  is  to  'cide  whether  it's  to  be  a  pwivate  or 
a  public  funeral." 

"Bless  us  and  save  us !"  said  the  man. 

"Don't  mind  her,"  said  Orion ;  "she's  not  well.  She  fell 
off  a  horse  last  night,  and  there's  something  gone  wrong 
inside  her  head.  I  s'pect  something's  cracked  there.  She's 
talking  a  lot  of  nonsense.  We  has  runned  away,  and  we 
is  desperate  hungry.  Can  you  give  us  a  drink  of  milk  ?" 

"Well,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  man,  smacking  his  lips  as 
he  spoke.  "I  never  saw  anything  like  this  afore,  and  never 
heard  anything  like  it,  neither.  Why,  it's  like  a  page  out 
of  a  printed  book.  And  so  you  has  run  away,  and  you 
belong  to  the  circus,  I  guess.  Why,  you  are  in  your  circus 
dresses." 

"See  my  bow  and  arrow,"  said  Diana.  "I  is  the  gweat 
Diana;  I  is  the  gweatest  huntwess  in  all  the  world." 

"To  be  sure ;  to  be  sure !"  said  the  man. 

"And  I  am  Orion,"  said  the  boy,  seeing  that  Diana's 
words  were  having  a  good  effect.  "You  can  watch  me  up 
in  the  sky  on  starful  nights.  I  am  a  great  giant,  and  this 
is  my  girdle,  and  this  is  my  sword !" 

"I  never  heard  anything  so  like  a  fairy  tale  afore,"  said 
the  nan.  "Are  you  sure  you  are  human,  you  two  little 
mites?" 

Diana  took  no  notice  of  this. 

"I  want  to  get  into  the  garding,"  she  said.  "I  want  to 
He  down  in  the  garding;  I  want  Iris;  I  want  mother. 
Man,  do  you  know  that  my  mother  has  gone  away  to  the 


The  Milkman.  25* 

angels?  She  is  playing  a  gold  harp  and  singing  ever  so 
loud;  and  once  we  had  a  little  mouse,  and  it  was  called 
Rub-a-Dub,  and  it's  deaded.  We  gived  it  a  public  funeral." 

"Oh,  do  let  us  have  some  milk,  and  don't  mind  her !" 
said  Orion. 

The  man  jumped  down  off  the  cart,  and,  turning  a  tap 
in  the  great  big  can,  poured  out  a  glass  of  foaming  milk. 
He  gave  it  to  Orion,  who  drank  it  all  off  at  the  first 
draught.  He  then  filled  out  a  second  measure,  which  he 
gave  to  Diana.  She  took  it,  raised  it  to  her  lips,  took 
one  or  two  sips,  and  then  gave  it  to  Orion. 

"There's  something  sick  inside  of  me,"  she  said.  "I 
don't  know  what's  the  matter;  I  isn't  well." 

"She  had  a  bad  fall  last  night  at  the  circus,"  said  Orion. 
"She  fell  from  one  of  the  rings.  I  s'pect  something's 
cracked  inside  her  head." 

"I  s'pect  something's  c'acked  inside  my  head,"  echoed 
Diana,  looking  up  piteously.  "I  want  to  go  to  the  garding ; 
I  want  to  lie  down." 

"Well,  look  here,"  said  the  man;  "this  is  more  than  I 
can  understand.  You  had  best,  both  of  you,  go  back  to 
the  circus,  and  let  the  people  who  has  the  charge  o.f  you 
see  what's  the  matter." 

"No !"  screamed  Orion ;  "never !  never !" 

He  suddenly  put  wings  to  his  little  feet,  and  began  to 
fly  down  the  road,  away  from  the  milkman. 

Diana  stood  quite  still. 

"Aren't  he  silly  little  boy?"  she  said.  "But  he  mustn't 
go  back  to  circus,  milkman;  it  would  kill  him.  I  isn't 
able  to  wide  to-day,  'cos  I's  c'acked  inside  my  head;  and 


260  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

he  mustn't  wide  without  me,  'cos  it  would  kill  him. 
Couldn't  we  go  to  your  house,  milkman,  and  rest  there 
for  a  bit?" 

"Well,  to  be  sure;  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  the 
man.  "So  you  shall,  and  welcome.  Jump  up  besides  me 
on  the  cart,  missy." 

"I  can't,  'cos  my  head's  c'acked,"  said  Diana. 

"Then  I'll  lift  you  up.  Here,  you  sit  there  and  lean 
against  the  big  milk  can.  Now,  we'll  set  Peggy  going, 
and  she  will  soon  overtake  little  master." 

Diana  laughed  gleefully. 

"Dou  you  know,  you's  an  awfu'  nice  man?"  she  said. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,  missy." 

The  man  took  the  reins  and  Peggy  started  forward. 
They  soon  overtook  little  Orion,  who  was  lifted  also  into 
the  milk  cart.  Then  the  milkman  turned  swiftly  round 
and  carried  the  children  back  to  a  small  house  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  When  he  got  there  he  called  out  in  a 
lusty  voice : 

"Hi,  Bessie !  are  you  within  ?" 

A  woman  with  a  smiling  face  came  to  the  door. 

"Now,  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you, 
Jonathan?"  she  answered. 

"Only  this,  wife.  I  met  the  queerest  little  pair  in  all 
the  world  on  the  road.  Can't  you  take  them  in  and  give 
them  rest  for  a  bit?  I  believe  the  little  miss  is  hurt 
awful." 

Ts  c'acked  insid«  my  head,  but  it  don't  matter,"  said 
Diana. 


The  Milkman.  261 

The  woman  stared  from  the  children  to  the  man;  thea 
something  in  Diana's  face  went  straight  to  her  heart. 

"Why,  you  poor  little  mite,"  she  said,  "come  along  thi« 
minute.  Why,  Jonathan,  don't  you  know  her?  Course 
it's  the  little  missy  that  we  both  saw  in  the  circus  last 
night.  Didn't  I  see  her  when  she  fell  from  the  ring? 
Oh,  poor  little  dear !  poor  little  love ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FORTUNE. 

Uncle  William  took  the  children  straight  up  to  Lon- 
don. They  spent  the  night  at  a  great  big  hotel,  and  in 
the  morning  he  went  alone  to  have  a  long  consultation 
with  one  of  the  best  detectives  in  New  Scotland  Yard. 
When  he  returned  after  this  interview,  Iris  came  to  meet 
him  with  a  wise  look  on  her  face. 

"I  know  what  to  do,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  then,  my  dear,  it's  more  than  I  do,"  replied 
Uncle  William. 

"It's  the  only  thing,"  repeated  Iris.  "Let's  go  straight 
home/' 

"Home  ?  Do  you  mean  to  the  Rectory  ?  Why,  we  have 
just  come  from  there." 

"I  don't  mean  the  Rectory.  I  mean  our  real  home," 
answered  Iris.  "Let's  get  back  at  once  to  Delaney 
Manor." 

"I  don't  see  much  use  in  that,"  answered  Uncle  William. 

"It's  all  a  feel  I  have  inside  of  me,"  replied  Iris.  "Often 
and  often  I  get  that  feel,  and  whenever  I  obey  it  things 
come  right.  I  have  a  feel  now  that  I  shall  be  nearer  to 
Diana  and  to  Orion  in  the  old  garden  than  anywhere  else. 
I  always  try  to  obey  my  feel.  Perhaps  it's  silly,  but  I  can't 
262 


Fortune.  263 

help  it.  Do  you  ever  get  that  sort  of  feel  inside  of  you, 
Uncle  William  ?" 

"If  I  did/'  replied  Uncle  William,  "your  Aunt  Jane 
would  say  that  I  was  the  silliest  old  man  she  had  ever 
come  across." 

"But  you  aren't,  you  know.  You  are  a  right  good  sort/' 
answered  Apollo,  in  a  patronizing  tone. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,  my  boy,"  replied  Uncle  Will- 
iam. "Well,  now,"  he  added,  "I  always  did  hate  London, 
and  in  the  middle  of  summer  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is 
wanting  in  air.  I  once  heard  a  countryman  say  that  he 
believed  people  only  breathed  turn  about  in  London,  and 
it  really  seems  something  like  that  this  morning.  The 
place  is  so  close  and  so  used-up  that  there  is  not  a  breath 
anywhere;  so,  Iris,  if  you  have  got  that  feel,  and  if  you 
will  promise  not  to  tell  your  Aunt  Jane  that  that 
is  your  reason  for  returning  to  the  Manor,  why,  we  may 
just  as  well  do  so— only,  I  suppose,  the  place  is  all  shut 
up." 

"Fortune,  at  any  rate,  is  there,"  replied  Iris;  "and  if 
anybody  can  help  us  to  find  Diana  and  Orion,  it's  Fortune ; 
for  she  had  them,  you  know,  Uncle  William,  from  the 
the  moment  the  angel  brought  them  down  from  heaven. 
She  had  to  do  for  them  and  nurse  them,  and  tend  them 
from  that  moment  until  Aunt  Jane  took  them  away.  Oh, 
yes !"  continued  Iris ;  "if  there  is  a  person  who  will  help 
us  to  find  them,  it's  Fortune." 

"She  partakes  of  the  strange  names  which  seem  to 
run  in  your  family,"  answered  Uncle  William.  "But 
there,  it  is  as  good  an  idea  as  any  other,  and  we  shall  at 


264  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

least  each  of  us  have  our  proper  number  of  breaths  at 
Delaney  Manor.  That  certainly  is  in  favor  of  the  scheme." 

Accordingly,  that  very  afternoon,  Uncle  William,  Iris, 
and  Apollo  took  the  train  into  Devonshire.  They  arrived  at 
the  Manor  in  the  evening.  Nobody  expected  them,  and 
the  place  looked,  to  Uncle  William,  at  least,  very  dull  and 
desolate.  But  when  Iris  saw  the  quaint  old  gateway,  and 
when  Apollo  felt  his  feet  once  again  upon  the  well-known 
avenue,  the  sadness  of  heart  which  had  oppressed  both 
children  seemed  to  lift  itself  as  if  it  had  wings  and  fly 
right  away. 

"Let's  go  to  the  garden  this  very  instant,"  exclaimed 
Iris,  looking  at  her  brother. 

They  clasped  each  other's  hands  and,  flying  along  the 
well-remembered  haunts,  soon  reached  their  favorite  gar- 
den. 

"Oil,  Apollo !  I  live ;  I  breathe  again,"  said  Iris,  panting 
as  she  spoke.  "Oh,  I  am  happy  once  more!" 

"Let  us  see  if  anything  has  been  injured  while  we  were 
away,"  said  Apollo.  "Oh,  I  wonder  if  anybody  has  watered 
our  pretty  gardens.  I  planted  a  lot  of  mignonette  the  day 
before  I  went  away.  I  wonder  if  it  has  come  up." 

The  children  wandered  about  the  garden.  The  dead- 
house  was  now  empty ;  the  four  little  gardens  looked  sadly 
the  worse  for  want  of  watering  and  general  looking  after. 
The  cemetery,  however,  looked  much  as  usual ;  so  also  did 
the  greenswards  of  grass,  the  roses,  the  different  summer 
flowers;  and  finally  Iris  and  Apollo  visited  the  little  sum- 
,  and  seated  tbemselves  on  tbeir  own  chairs. 


Fortune.  261 

"The  garden  has  not  run  away/'  said  Apollo.  "That's 
a  comfort.  I'm  real  glad  of  that." 

"It's  exactly  like  the  garden  of  Eden/*  said  Iris,  pant- 
ing as  she  spoke.  "I  don't  think  anybody,"  she  continued, 
"could  be  naughty  in  this  garden." 

Apollo  kicked  his  legs  in  a  somewhat  impatient  manner. 

"I  feel  dreadfully  hungry,  Iris,"  he  said.  "Suppose  we 
go  to  the  house  now  and  have  some  supper." 

"Who  is  that  coming  down  the  walk?"  said  Iris. 

It  was  dusk  by  this  time,  and  in  the  little  summer- 
house  all  was  dark;  but  Iris,  as  she  spoke,  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and  the  next  moment  found  herself  clasped  in  For- 
tune's motherly  arms. 

"My  darling !"  said  the  woman.  "Why,  it  drives  me 
near  mad  to  see  you  again.  And  now,  what  in  the  world  is 
up  with  the  two  of  you,  and  where  are  the  others  ?  There's 
an  elderly  gentleman — a  clergyman — in  the  house,  and 
he  said  I  was  to  look  for  you  here,  and  that  you  were  go- 
ing to  spend  the  night.  What  does  it  mean,  Iris?  Oh, 
my  dear !  I  can't  see  your  face,  for  it  is  too  dark ;  but  you 
are  very  light.  Why,  you  are  no  weight  at  all,  my  honey." 

"I  expect  I'm  rather  worn  out,"  replied  Iris,  in  her  old- 
fashioned  tone.  "You  know,  Fortune,  when  mother  went 
away  she  told  me  to  be  a  mother  to  the  others,  and — oh, 
Fortune,  Fortune!  I  have  failed,  I  have  failed." 

Iris'  little  arms  were  clasped  tightly  round  her  old 
nurse's  neck;  her  face  was  hidden  against  her  bosom;  her 
heavy  sobs  came  thick  and  fast. 

"Why,  my  poor  dear,  you  are  exactly  like  a  feather," 
said  Fortune ;  "it  ain't  to  be  expected  that  a  young  thing 


266  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

like  you  could  be  a  mother.  But  what's  gone  wrong, 
dearie?  what's  gone  wrong?" 

"They  are  lost.  That's  what  has  gone  wrong,"  said  Iris. 
"Orion  and  Diana  are  lost,  Fortune." 

"Sakes  alive,  child!  stand  up  and  speak  proper,"  said 
Fortune.  "Your  little  brother  and  sister  lost !  Impos- 
sible ;  you  are  joking  me,  Iris,  and  that  ain't  fair,  seeing 
I  was  with  you  since  you  drew  the  breath  of  life." 

"Do  you  think  I  could  joke  upon  such  a  subject  ?"  said 
Iris.  "You  say  I  am  like  a  feather — that  is  because  I 
have  all  wasted  away  from — from  fretting,  from — from 
misery.  Yes,  Fortune,  they  are  lost,  and  I  wish  I  were 
dead.  I  feel  it  here  so  dreadfully."  The  child  pressed 
both  her  hands  against  her  heart.  "I  have  not  been  a 
mother,"  she  continued.  "Oh,  Fortune !  what  is  to  be 
done?" 

"You  jest  sit  down  on  my  lap  and  stop  talking  non- 
sense," said  Fortune.  "Why,  you  are  trembling  like  an 
aspen.  You  jest  rest  yourself  a  bit  alongside  o'  me.  Now 
then,  Master  Apollo,  tell  me  the  whole  truth,  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  The  two  children  lost?  Now,  I  don't 
believe  it,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"You'll  have  to  believe  it,  Fortune,"  said  Apollo,  "for 
it's  true.  They  went  out  one  day  about  a  month  ago — we 
think  they  must  have  gone  to  some  woods  not  far  from 
that  horrid  Kectory,  but  nobody  seems  to  know  for  cer- 
tain— and  they  just  never  came  back.  We  missed  them  at 
tea-time,  and  we  began  to  look  for  'em,  and  we  went  on 
looking  from  that  minute  until  now,  and  we  have  never 
found  either  of  'em.  That's  about  all.  Thev  are  both 


Fortune.  267 

quite  lost.  What  I  think,"  continued  the  little  boy,  speak- 
ing in  a  wise  tone,  "is  that  Diana  must  have  met  the  great 
Diana  of  long  ago,  and  gone  right  away  with  her,  and  per- 
haps Orion  has  been  turned  into  one  of  the  stars  that  he's 
called  after.  I  don't  really  know  what  else  to  think," 
continued  Apollo. 

"Fudge!"  said  Fortune.  "Don't  you  waste  your  time 
talking  any  more  such  arrant  nonsense.  Now,  the  two  of 
you  are  as  cold  and  shivery,  as  can  be,  and  I  doubt  not,  as 
hungry  also.  Come  straight  away  to  the  house.  This 
thing  has  got  to  be  inquired  into." 

"Oh,  Fortune !  can  you  do  anything  ?"  asked  Iris. 

"Can  I  do  anything?"  said  Fortune.  "I  have  got  to 
find  those  blessed  children,  or  my  name's  not  Fortune 
Squeers.  Did  your  mother  bring  me  all  the  way  from 
America  to  be  of  no  use  in  an  emergency  like  the  present? 
You  needn't  fret  any  more,  Iris;  nor  you  either,  Apollo. 
Just  come  right  along  to  the  house  and  have  your  cozy, 
warm  supper,  the  two  of  you,  and  then  let  me  undress  you 
and  put  you  into  your  old  little  beds,  and  I'll  sleep  in  the 
room  alongside  of  you,  and  in  the  morning  we'll  see  about 
getting  back  those  two  children.  Lost,  is  it?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  They  are  mislaid,  if  you  like,  but  lost  they  ain't — 
not  while  Fortune  is  above  ground." 

Fortune's  strong  words  were  of  the  greatest  possible 
comfort  to  Iris.  It  is  true  that  Aunt  Jane  had  told 
her  somewhat  the  same,  day  by  day — Aunt  Jane  was  also 
sure  that  the  children  were  certain  to  be  found — but,  as 
far  as  Iris  could  gather,  she  only  spoke,  and  never  did  any- 
thing to  aid  their  recovery;  for  Iris  had  no  faith  in  cle- 


268  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

tectives,  nor  secret  police,  nor  any  of  the  known  dignitaries 
of  the  law.  But  she  put  the  greatest  possible  faith  in  the 
strong,  cheery  words  of  her  old  nurse,  and  she  returned  to 
the  house  clasping  Fortune's  hand,  and  feeling  as  if  the 
worst  of  her  troubles  were  at  an  end. 

The  greater  part  of  Delaney  Manor  was  shut  up,  and 
Fortune  and  two  other  old  servants  were  left  in  charge; 
but  very  soon  a  comfortable  meal  was  spread  for  the  trav- 
elers, a  room  was  provided  for  Uncle  William,  and  Iris 
and  Apollo  slept  once  more  in  the  dear  old  nursery. 

How  very  sound  Iris  did  sleep  that  night !  How  happy 
she  felt  once  more! 

Fortune  had  dragged  in  her  bed,  and  laid  it  on  the  floor 
close  to  the  little  girl's  side,  and  the  sound  of  Fortune's 
snores  was  the  sweetest  music  Iris  had  listened  to  for  a 
long  time. 

"Fortune  will  find  the  others,  and  I  can  be  a  real  mother 
once  more,"  she  whispered  over  and  over  to  herself. 

And  so  she  slept  sweetly  and  dreamed  happily,  and  awoke 
in  the  morning  with  color  in  her  cheeks  and  hope  in  her 
eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ON  THE  TBAIL. 

It  was  on  the  very  evening  that  Orion  and  Diana  had 
left  the  great  circus  that  Uncle  William  and  the  two  chil- 
dren arrived  at  Delaney  Manor,  for  Delaney  Manor  was 
only  five  miles  distant  from  the  prosperous  seaside  town 
of  Madersley. 

Now,  Uncle  Ben  had  very  little  idea,  when  he  brought 
the  two  children  to  the  southwest  of  England,  that  he  was 
really  taking  them  back  to  their  native  country.  These 
things,  however,  are  ordered,  and  the  wisest  man  in  the 
world  cannot  go  against  the  leadings  of  Providence.  Uncle 
Ben  thought  to  hide  the  children  from  their  best  friends, 
whereas,  in  reality,  he  was  taking  them  home  once  more. 

But  two  little  circus  children  might  wander  about  at 
their  own  sweet  will  at  Madersley,  and  be  heard  nothing 
whatever  of  at  Delaney  Manor,  and  these  little  children 
might  never  have  been  found,  and  this  story  might  have 
had  a  totally  different  ending,  but  for  Fortune. 

When  Fortune,  however,  lay  down  on  her  mattress  by 
Iris*  side,  she  thought  a  great  deal  before  she  went  to  sleep. 
She  thought,  as  she  expressed  it  to  herself,  all  round  the 
subject,  to  the  right  of  it,  and  to  the  left  of  it  She  thought 


270  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

of  it  in  its  breadth,  and  she  thought  of  it  in  its  height, 
and,  having  finally  settled  the  matter  to  her  own  satisfac- 
tion, she  went  to  sleep,  and  soothed  little  Iris  with  the 
comforting  music  of  her  snores. 

On  the  following  morning  she  had  an  interview  with  Mr. 
Dolman. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  a  straight  question,  sir,"  she  said 
"What  is  it  the  police  are  doing  ?  It  seems  a  mighty  strange 
thing  to  me  that  two  little  children  should  be  lost  in  the 
middle  of  a  civilized  country  like  England." 

"It i  seems  a  stranger  thing  to  me,"  replied  Uncle  Will- 
iam. "I  am  dreadfully  puzzled  over  the  whole  matter. 
We  have  now  four  detectives  at  work,  but  up  to  the  pres- 
ent ,they  have  not  got  the  slightest  clew  to  the  children's 
whereabouts." 

"As  like  as  not,"  said  Fortune,  "these  two  have  been 
stolen  by  gypsies." 

"We  thought  of  that  at  once,"  said  Uncle  William. 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Fortune,  "and  then,  when  you  could- 
n't make  the  thing  fit,  or  find  your  clew,  you  dropped  it. 
Now  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  ain't  our  way  in  America. 
When  we  get  the  faintest  ghost  of  a  clew  we  cling  on  to 
it  as  if  it  were  grim  death,  and  we  don't  let  it  go,  not 
for  nobody.  It's  my  belief  that  gypsies  are  at  the  bottom 
of  the  matter,  and  why  have  not  you  and  your  detectives 
looked  in  every  gypsy  encampment  in  the  length  and 
breadth  of  England?" 

"There  were  some  gypsies  in  our  neighborhood,  only 
we  did  not  know  it  the  first  day,"  continued  Mr.  Dolman, 
"and  their  camp  was  of  course  thoroughly  examined,  but 


On  the  Trail.  271 

no  little  people  in  the  least  resembling  the  children  were 
found  there." 

"Then  of  course  it  goes  without  saying,"  continued 
Fortune,  "that  the  gypsies  passed  on  the  little  dears  to 
other  folk.  Now  the  question  is,  What  sort  of  folk  would 
be  interested  in  a  little  pair  like  them?  They  was  both 
young,  both  lissom,  both  handsome,  and  Miss  Diana  was 
the  bravest  child  I  ever  come  across — maybe  they  was  sold 
to  someone  to  train  'em  to  walk  on  the  tight  rope." 

Uncle  William  smiled  indulgently. 

"The  detectives  would  certainly  have  found  that  out  by 
this  time,"  he  said.  "Besides,  there  were  no  traveling 
companies  of  any  sort  within  a  radius  of  quite  fifteen 
miles." 

"Very  well,"  said  Fortune;  "then,  perhaps,  sir,  you'll 
allow  me  to  manage  things  my  own  way.  I  ain't  a  de- 
tective, but  I'm  bent  on  detective  work  for  the  time  being. 
I'm  going  straight  off  to  Madersley  this  morning.  I'm 
going  to  have  descriptions  of  those  children  printed  in  very 
big  characters,  and  posted  all  over  Madersley." 

"And  why  specially  all  over  Madersley?"  asked  Mr.  Dol- 
man. 

"  'Cos  Madersley  is,  so  to  speak,  their  native  town,"  an- 
swered Fortune.  "Why,  there  ain't  a  person  in  Madersley 
who  don'  know  Delaney  Manor;  and  strangers,  when  they 
come  there,  drive  out  to  see  Delaney  Manor  as  they  would 
any  other  big  place,  and  folks  at  this  time  of  year  travel 
from  far  to  stay  at  Madersley,  because  the  place  is  bracing 
and  the  coast  good  for  bathing.  So  you  see,  Mr.  Dolman, 
there'll  be  lots  of  people  who  will  read  my  description?, 


272  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

and  when  they  read  'em  they'll  begin  to  talk  about  the  chil- 
dren, and  there's  no  saying  what  may  happen." 

"It  doesn't  sound  a  bad  idea/'  said  Mr.  Dolman. 

"Bad!"  repeated  Fortune.  "It's  a  first-rate  idea;  it's 
an  American  idea.  In  America  we  never  let  the  grass 
grow  under  our  feet.  I'm  off  to  Madersley  this  minute  to 
see  after  those  posters.  Why,  we  post  up  everything  in 
America,  every  single  thing  that  is  lost,  let  alone  children, 
and  we  do  it  in  big  type,  as  big  as  they  make  it,  and  we 
put  the  posters  on  the  walls,  and  wherever  there's  a  scrap 
of  available  space.  By  your  leave,  sir,  I'm  off  to  Maders- 
ley now." 

Fortune  was  as  good  as  her  word.  She  not  only  went 
to  Madersley  and  interviewed  some  of  the  best  printers 
in  the  place,  but  she  also  visited  the  police  station,  and 
told  the  police  to  be  on  the  lookout. 

"For  the  two  youngest  little  Delaneys  are  missing,"  she 
said,  "and  found  they  must  be,  if  heaven  and  earth  are 
moved  to  accomplish  the  job." 

The  superintendent  of  the  police  remembered  that  he 
had  already  had  notice  of  two  children  being  missing  some- 
where in  the  North  of  England,  but  as  he  thought  it  ex- 
tremely unlikely  that  such  children  would  come  to  the 
southwest,  he  had  not  troubled  himself  much  about  them. 
Fortune's  words,  however,  stimulated  his  zeal,  and  he 
promised  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout.  The  printer  also  was 
fall  of  enthusiasm,  and  agreed  to  print  posters  which 
should  satisfy  Fortune.  He  certainly  did  his  best;  and  a 
day  or  two  later  flaming  posters,  in  red  and  black  ink, 
were  pasted  up  all  over  the  little  town.  In  these,  Fortune 


On  the  Trail  273 

had  given  a  most  accurate  description  of  little  black-eyed 
Diana  and  Orion.  Their  ages  were  mentioned,  their  sizes, 
the  color  also  of  their  eyes  and  hair. 

The  immediate  effect  of  these  posters  was  to  frighten 
Uncle  Ben  Holt  considerably.  He  had  been  in  a  dread- 
ful rage  when  first  he  discovered  that  Diana  and  Orion 
had  taken  him  at  his  word  and  had  decamped.  He  had 
been  very  cruel  to  every  member  of  the  troupe,  and  in 
especial  to  his  poor  wife.  He  vowed,  and  vowed  loudly, 
that  he  would  not  leave  a  stone  unturned  to  find  the  chil- 
dren, and  he  also  informed  his  wife  that  he  would  start 
off  the  following  morning  to  acquaint  the  police  with  the 
fact  that  two  of  his  troupe  were  missing. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "there's  a  fortune  in  that  little  gal; 
I  must  have  the  little  gal.  I  don't  think  nothing  at  all 
of  the  boy.  She  was  quite  the  most  sperited  little  'un  I 
ever  come  across.  Fact  is,  I  would  not  lose  her  for  a  fifty- 
pund  note." 

For  two  days  Uncle  Ben  stormed,  and  the  performances 
at  the  circus  went  languidly ;  but  when,  on  the  third  morn- 
ing, he  saw  the  posters  about  the  town,  and  when  one 
happened  to  be  pasted  up  exactly  opposite  his  own  circus, 
he  began  to  cool  down  and  to  change  his  mind. 

'mere  are  you,  Sarah?"  he  called  out. 

His  wife  flew  to  answer  the  fierce  summons  of  her  lord 
and  master. 

"I'm  here,  Ben,"  she  answered. 

"'I'm  here,  Ben,'"  he  retorted,  mimicking  her  tone. 
"There  you  are,  Sarah,  without  the  sperit  of  a  mouse. 


274  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Have  you  seen,  or  have  you  not,  what's  up  all  over  the 
town?" 

"Yes,  to  be  sure/'  replied  Sarah  Holt ;  "and  it's  a  faith- 
ful description  of  the  children.  Why,  they  are  as  like  what 
that  description  says  of  'em  as  two  peas,  Ben." 

"I'm  not  saying  they  ain't,"  snapped  Ben,  in  a  very  in- 
dignant voice;  "but  what  I  do  want  to  know  is  this — 
what's  to  be  done  if  they  are  found  and  we  are  discovered 
to  have  bought  'em?  We  had  all  our  plans  arranged,  and 
we  have  taken  this  field  for  a  fortnight;  but,  bad  as  the 
loss  will  be  to  ourselves,  it  '11  be  better  than  the  perlice 
discovering  that  we  had  anything  to  do  with  them  chil- 
dren. The  fact  is  this,  Sarah :  I'm  going  to  pack  our  traps 
and  be  off  out  of  this,  to-night  at  the  latest." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Ben,"  said  the  woman,  in  a 
very  ead  tone;  "only,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  "if  we  are 
really  going,  may  not  I  run  up  to  Delaney  Manor  and 
just  give  'em  a  hint?  It  seems  so  dreadful  to  me  if  any- 
thing should  happen  to  them  little  kids,  more  particular 
to  little  Diana,  who  was  the  mortal  image  of  my  Rachel 
who  died." 

"If  you  do  anything  of  the  kind  I'll  kill  you,"  roared 
the  man.  "Do  you  want  to  see  me  locked  up  in  prison  for 
kidnaping  children  ?  No ;  we  must  be  out  of  this  to-night, 
and  I  must  lose  the  ten  pund  I  paid  for  the  use  of  the 
field." 

By  this  time  the  news  of  the  posters  had  spread  not  only 
through  the  whole  town,  but  amongst  the  members  of 
Ben  Holt's  troupe.  The  men  and  women  in  the  troupe 
were  all  interested  and  excited,  and  whenever  they  had  a 


On  the  Trail.  275 

spare  moment  they  used  to  run  out  to  read  the  poster 
which  Fortune  had  been  clever  enough  to  dictate. 

Meanwhile,  that  good  woman  herself  was  by  no  means 
idle. 

"I  have  done  something/'  she  said  to  Iris,  "and  what 
I  have  done  at  Madersley  ought  to  have  been  done  before 
now  all  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  England.  But  now, 
Miss  Iris,  having  put  the  posters  up,  it  doesn't  mean  that 
we  are  to  be  idle.  We  have  got  to  do  more.  I  have  my 
eye  on  that  circus.  They  says  it's  a  very  pretty  circus  in- 
deed, and  there  are  a  lot  of  entertaining  spectacles  to  be 
viewed  there.  Now,  what  do  you  say  to  you  and  me  and 
Mr.  Dolman,  if  he  likes  to  come,  and  Master  Apollo  going 
this  afternoon  to  see  the  performance?" 

"I  don't  think  I  much  care,"  answered  Iris.  "I  don't 
seem  to  take  any  interest  in  anything  just  now." 

"Well,  all  the  same,  dear,  I  would  like  you  to  go.  The 
best  of  us  can  but  take  steps,  and  when  we  has  taken  the 
steps  that  Providence  seems  to  indicate,  there's  no  use 
a-fretting  ourselves  into  our  graves.  Folks  are  coming  to 
Madersley  now  from  the  length  and  breadth  of  England, 
being  such  a  pretty  and  such  a  favorite  seaside  resort.  Let's 
go  to  the  circus  this  afternoon,  Miss  Iris,  and  see  what  is 
to  be  seen." 

Iris  could  not  follow  Fortune's  reasonings,  but  she  sub- 
mitted to  her  desire  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  traveling  circus, 
and,  accordingly,  that  afternoon,  the  very  last  of  Holt's 
stay  at  Madersley,  two  other  little  Delaneys  entered  the 
large  tent  and  took  their  places  in  the  front  row.  The 
children  were  accompanied  both  by  Uncle  William  and 


276  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Fortune.  The  curtain  rose  almost  immediately  after  their 
entrance,  and  the  performance  began. 

For  some  reason  or  other  it  was  sadly  lacking  in  spirit, 
and  a  neighbor  who  sat  not  far  from  Fortune  began  to  re- 
mark on  the  fact. 

"I  wouldn't  have  paid  three  shillings  for  my  seat  if  I 
had  known  the  thing  was  so  poor,"  she  said.  "Why,  my 
husband  was  here  last  week  and  said  it  was  downright 
splendid.  But  I  suppose  that  was  owing  to  the  perfor- 
mances of  the  children." 

"The  children?"  inquired  Fortune.  "I  see  no  children 
about/' 

"Oh,  well,  there  were  two  the  other  night — a  little  girl 
and  boy;  and  they  said  the  girl  rode  splendidly,  and  was 
the  life  of  the  whole  thing.  She  was  simply  wonderful; 

But  here  the  curtain  rose  and  the  performance  began 
anew.  Fortune  longed  to  question  her  loquacious  neigh- 
bor, but  when  she  turned  presently  to  speak  to  her  she 
found  that  she  had  left  the  tent. 

"Ho,  ho!"  thought  the  American  woman  to  herself; 
"they  had  a  boy  and  a  girl  here,  had  they,  and  they  aren't 
here  no  longer.  Now  I  wonder  if  I  can  strike  that  trail  ? 
Being  from  America  it  would  be  hard  if  I  didn't,  and  also 
if  I  didn't  succeed." 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 
FOUND ! 

When  the  performance  came  to  an  end  Fortune  sug- 
gested to  Uncle  William  that  he  should  go  to  the  best 
hotel  in  the  place,  and  give  Iris  and  Apollo  some  tea.  'Iris 
was  loath  to  leave  Fortune's  side,  but  Fortune  bent  down 
and  whispered  to  her  to  obey. 

"I  am  on  the  trail,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't  want  to  be  in- 
terrupted. I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Iris,  that  the  tea  is 
all  an  excuse.  You  get  your  uncle  to  take  you  to  the 
hotel,  and  keep  him  there  until  I  join  him.  Now,  go 
off  this  minute,  like  a  good  girl !" 

Iris  looked  into  Fortune's  small,  but  honest,  eyes,  and 
felt  once  again  that  her  feel  was  leading  her  in  the  right 
direction. 

"Uncle  William,  I  should  like  some  tea  very  much," 
she  said. 

"Well,  then,  my  dear,  if  you  want  tea  you  shall  have  it," 
replied  Uncle  William. 

He  hailed  a  fly,  and  took  the  children  immediately  to 
the  best  hotel  in  the  town. 

When  Fortune  found  herself  alone  she  turned  round, 
and  gazed  to  right  and  left  of  her.  The  great  tent  was 
almost  empty,  for  the  spectators  had  all  departed;  a  few, 
277 


278  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

however,  were  standing  in  little  groups  talking  to  one  an- 
other. Fortune  edged  near  one  of  these.  It  consisted  of 
a  good-looking  young  man  and  two  pretty  girls.  They 
were  standing  opposite  the  poster  which  gave  such  a  life- 
like account  of  little  Diana  and  Orion. 

"I  see  you  are  reading  that  poster/'  said  Fortune,  "and 
may  be  you're  interested?" 

"Why,  of  course  we  are,"  said  one  of  the  girls,  turning 
and  looking  at  Fortune. 

"Now,  1  wonder,"  continued  Fortune  Squeers,  "if  it 
lies  anywhere  in  your  power  to  give  me  a  bit  of  help? 
Fact  is,  I'm  interested  in  the  children  described  in  that 
poster,  and  as  I  was  sitting  inside  the  circus,  I  heard  a 
neighbor  say  that  the  children  belonging  to  your  show 
were  not  present.  Being  an  American,  I  never  lose  any 
clews,  and  there  may  be  just  the  ghost  of  a  chance  that 
the  children  who  were  not  at  the  performance  to-day  are 
the  very  identical  same  children  that  are  written  about 
in  that  there  poster.  Maybe  you  has  heard  of  those  chil- 
dren— that  is,  if  you  are  Madersley  folk?" 

"Yes,  yes;  we  are  Madersley  folk,"  said  the  young  man, 
now  turning  and  speaking  eagerly  to  Fortune. 

"Well,  sir,  do  you  know  anything  about  the  children 
who  were  not  in  the  circus  to-day?" 

"I  have  heard  of  them,  of  course,"  said  the  man.  "Don't 
you  remember,  Amelia,"  he  added,  "when  I  came  home  last 
Saturday  night  how  I  told  3'ou  we  must  go  and  see  Holt's 
circus,  for  he  had  got  a  little  girl  who  was  riding  won- 
derfully ?  I  could  not  manage  it  on  Saturday,  and  to-day, 
it  seems,  she's  off." 


Forind.  279 

"And  he  had  a  boy  as  well,  hadn't  he  ?"  said  Fortune. 

"Yes,  there  was  talk  of  a  boy ;  but  he  didn't  seem  to  have 
the  spirit  of  his  sister.  Anyhow,  they  are  neither  of  them 
playing  to-day,  and,  for  my  part,  I  thought  the  perfor- 
mance lame." 

"Well,  that's  my  opinion,"  said  Fortune.  "No  American 
would  go  the  length  of  the  road  to  see  anything  so  poor  and 
common.  And  so  the  children  are  off — but  the  children 
were  on.  Now,  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  see  those  chil- 
dren." 

"I  don't  suppose  they  have  anything  to  do  with  the  lost 
children  who  are  spoken*  of  in  these  posters,"  said  the  man. 
"They  say  they  were  brown  as  gypsies,  that  the  boy  was 
timid,  and  the  girl  rode  wonderfully.  She  must  have  been 
trained  for  some  time  to  ride  as  well  as  she  did." 

Not  being  able  to  get  anything  more  out  of  these  folks, 
Fortune  turned  on  her  heel  and  wandered  in  another  di- 
rection. She  crossed  the  entrance  to  the  great  tent,  and 
made  for  the  exit  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  field.  In 
doing  this  she  ran  right  up  against  a  fair-haired,  rather 
pretty  circus  girl. 

"My  dear,"  said  Fortune,  "you'll  excuse  my  stopping  to 
speak  to  you,  but  will  you  tell  me  if  I  can  get  into  the 
town  by  the  gate  yond3r?" 

"It's  rather  a  roundabout  way,"  answered  the  girl,  "but 
you  can  go,  of  course.  You  will  have  to  walk  quite  a  way 
down  a  country  lane,  then  turn  to  your  left,  and  it  will 
bring  you  to  the  other  side  of  the  town." 

"Fact  is,"  continued  Fortune,  "I'm  anxious  to  see  some 
more  of  those  posters.  I'm  mighty  took  with  them.  They 


280  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

seein  to  describe  a  most  elegant  little  pair  of  children." 

The  girl  uttered  a  sigh  and  changed  color. 

"Maybe,  miss,"  said  Fortune,  fixing  her  with  her  keen 
eyes,  "you  can  tell  me  something  about  'em.  Now,  if  you 
could,  and  would,  it  would  be  worth  your  while." 

"Oh,  I  know  nothing  at  all,"  said  the  girl,  in  alarm. 
"What  should  I  know?" 

"How  is  it,"  continued  Fortune,  "that  the  little  chil- 
dren belonging  to  your  circus  were  not  present  this  after- 
noon ?  It  seems  a  sort  of  cheating  of  the  public." 

"The  little  children  belonging  to  our  circus?"  repeated 
the  girl.  "But  we  hasn't  no  children."  She  turned  very 
white  now,  and  suddenly  leaving  Fortune,  ran  as  fast  as 
ever  she  could  in  the  direction  of  the  tent. 

Fortune  followed  her  with  her  eyes.  She  saw  a  dark 
man  peeping  out. 

"That  girl  is  frightened;  she's  hiding  something," 
thought  the  woman.  "There's  no  doubt  the  trail  strength- 
ens, and  I,  being  an  American — well,  well,  'taint  likely 
I'm  going  to  leave  off  now.  Yes,  hot  grows  the  trail." 

Fortune  pursued  her  way.  She  had  just  reached  the 
gate  of  the  opposite  exit  of  the  field  when  a  light  hand  was 
laid  on  her  arm.  Turning  quickly,  she  saw  the  same 
girl. 

"For  the  love  of  God,  madam,"  she  said,  "don't  you  tell 
on  me — it's  as  much  as  my  place  is  worth — he  would  kill 
me,  if  he  knew — but  we  had  two  little  kids  here,  and  that 
poster  in  front  of  the  circus  gives  their  very  description  to 
a  hair.  But  they  have  run  away— they  ran  away  some 


Found.  281 

days  ago,  and  God  in  heaven  only  knows  where  they  are 
now." 

"What  were  their  names?"  asked  Fortune. 

"Diana  was  the  name  of  the  girl " 

"Diana!"  cried  Fortune.  "You  need  not  tell  me  any 
more;  and  so  it  was  you  who  stole  'em?" 

"I!"  said  the  girl;  "I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I 
was  kind  to  'em  when  I  could,  and  nothing  would  ever 
frighten  Diana.  But  oh,  please,  promise  you  won't  tell 
on  me — you  won't  let  out  that  I  said  anything  ?" 

"'No,  my  dear;  I  won't  injure  you,"  said  Fortune;  "but 
I  must  know  this :  When  was  it  they  ran  away  ?" 

"Three  nights  ago,  madam;  and  Ben  Holt,  he's  fairly 
wild  at  losing  the  girl.  He  doesn't  think  anything  at  all 
about  the  boy,  but  the  little  girl — why,  she  won  us  all, 
she  was  so  plucky  and  fearless.  But  they  ran  away  three 
nights  back,  and  no  one  knows  where  they  are." 

"Don't  keep  me,"  said  Fortune.  "I'm  much  obliged 
to  you ;  but  don't  keep  me  now." 

She  left  the  field  where  the  tent  was,  and  began  to  walk 
rapidly  down  the  lane. 

"Now,  am  I  an  American  or  am  I  not?"  she  thought. 
"Do  I,  or  do  I  not,  want  the  police  to  interfere  in  this 
matter  ?  Do  I,  or  do  I  not,  want  to  find  those  children  my 
very  own  self  ?  They  were  here  three  nights  ago,  and  they 
have  run  away.  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  it?" 

Fortune  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"Well,  if  there's  one  thing  more  evident  than  another," 
s1-.'1  muttered  after  a  pauee,  "it's  this:  I  must  not  leave 
Madersley  at  present.  I'll  just  go  to  the  hotel  and  tell  Mr. 
Dolman  that  I  am  on  the  trail,  and  that  not  all  the  coax- 


282  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

ing  and  all  the  worriting  in  the  world  will  get  me  off  it 
until  I  have  found  those  children." 

No  sooner  had  this  resolve  formed  itself  in  Fortune's 
stalwart  mind  than  she  hailed  a  fly  and  desired  the  man 
to  drive  her  to  the  Madersley  Arms.  When  she  reached 
the  big  hotel  she  was  shown  at  once  into  Mr.  Dolman's 
presence. 

"Now,  sir,"  she  said;  "I  hope  you  have  all  had  a  good 
tea  and  enjoyed  it." 

"Very  much,  thank  you,"  replied  Uncle  William,  who 
really,  if  the  truth  must  be  known,  was  having  quite  a 
delightful  time — no  Aunt  Jane  to  pull  him  up,  no  ser- 
mons to  write,  and  a  vast  amount  of  variety  to  occupy  his 
mind.  "We  have  enjoyed  our  tea,  all  of  us,"  he  said ; 
"and  now,  Fortune,  would  not  you  like  a  cup?  Iris,  my 
dear,  we'll  ring  the  bell  for  some  more  hot  water." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Fortune;  "but  I  have  no  time 
to  eat  nor  drink  at  present.  I  am  on  the  trail,  and  no 
one  can  get  me  off  it." 

"Do  you  really  mean  that  you  have  had  news  of  the 
children?" 

"I  have  had  very  positive  news.  Why,  they  belonged  to 
the  circus  we  went  to  see  to-day !  I  had  my  suspicions  as 
soon  as  ever  I  heard  that  woman  talking  and  saying  that 
the  performance  was  miserably  poor  without  the  children. 
At  that  very  instant  it  came  right  over  me  that  it  was  our 
little  Miss  Di  who  had  made  things  so  sparkling  and 
lively." 

"Oh,  Fortune!  let  me  go  to  her,"  cried  Iris.  "Is  she 
there?  Please,  Fortune,  take  me  to  her  at  once." 


Found.  283 

"Now,  Iris,  love,  that's  just  what  I  can't  do.  Patience 
has  to  be  exercised  always  in  the  matter  of  trails,"  contin- 
ued Fortune;  "and  when  we  hurry  or  flurry  ourselves  we 
lose  the  scent,  and  then  we  are  nowhere.  The  children 
did  belong  to  the  circus,  for  I  had  it  from  the  lips  of 
one  of  the  circus  girls.  Poor  innocent  lambs,  to  think  of 
them  having  anything  to  do  with  such  a  defiling  place! 
But  there  they  were,  and  there  they  would  not  stay,  for 
three  nights  ago,  Iris,  they  ran  away,  and  nobody  in  the 
wide  world  knows  where  they  are  at  the  present  mo- 
ment." 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?"  said  Mr.  Dol- 
man. "For  my  part,  I  think  the  police " 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  this  is  a  matter  for  me,  not  the  police. 
I  propose,  sir,  to  stay  at  Madersley  until  I  bring  the  chil- 
dren back.  I  hope  to  bring  them  back  to-night." 

"To-night!"  cried  Iris.  "Oh,  Fortune!  do  you  mean 
it?" 

"Yes,  my  love.  I  am  an  American,  arid  I  generally  do 
what  I  say.  I  mean  to  bring  the  little  dears  back  to  their 
rightful  home  to-night.  And  now  I'm  off,  and  please  ex- 
pect me  when  you  see  me." 

Fortune  turned  abruptly  and  left  the  hotel.  She  walked 
down  the  High  Street. 

"Now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "why  should  not  I  just  go 
and  pay  a  visit  to  my  old  friend  and  neighbor,  Matty  Bell. 
I  want  a  woman  that  is  a  gossip  just  now,  and  if  there  is  a 
gossip  in  the  whole  of  Madersley,  it's  Matty  Bell.  As  a 
rule,  I  can't  abear  her,  but  there  are  times  when  a  gos- 
siping woman  comes  in  handy;  and  Matty's  neither  very 


284  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

low  nor  very  high  up  in  the  world,  so  she's  acquainted  with 
all  that  goes  on  in  both  circles,  the  high  and  the  low.  Yes, 
I'll  go  to  Matty  this  very  moment;  and  as  there's  not  any 
time  to  lose,  I'll  take  a  fly  and  drive  there." 

Fortune  hailed  the  first  fly  she  came  across,  and  was 
quickly  borne  to  the  abode  of  her  old  neighbor,  Matty 
Bell. 

Matty  Bell  was  a  woman  of  about  sixty  years  of  age. 
At  one  time  she  had  been  a  servant  at  Delaney  Manor, 
but  having  married,  and  then  lost  her  husband,  she  had 
set  up  in  the  laundry  line.  In  that  interesting  trade  she 
had  done  a  thriving  business,  and  kept  a  comfortable  roof 
over  her  head.  She  had  never  had  children,  and  conse- 
quently had  plenty  of  time  to  attend  to  her  neighbors'  af- 
fairs. 

<fWell,  to  be  sure,  Fortune,  and  what  brings  you  here?" 
she  said,  when  Fortune  alighted  from  the  fly.  "Dear 
heart !  I  didn't  know  that  you  would  care  to  leave  Delaney 
Manor  with  all  the  troubles  about." 

"And  what  troubles  do  you  mean  now,  Matty  Bell?" 
said  Fortune,  as  she  paid  a  shilling  to  the  driver,  and  then 
tripped  lightly  into  Matty's  little  front  parlor. 

"Why,  the  death  of  the  poor  missus,  Heaven  bless  her 
memory!  and  then  the  master  going  off  to  the  other  end 
of  nobody  knows  where,  and  all  them  blessed  little  chil- 
dren took  from  their  home  and  carried — oh,  we  needn't  go 
into  that,  Fortune — it's  been  a  trouble  to  you,  and  I  see 
it  writ  on  your  face." 

"You  are  right  there,  Matty,"  said  Fortune;  "it  has 
been  a  bitter  trouble  to  me,  and  there's  more  behind,  for 


Found.  285 

the  lady  who  took  the  children  had  no  right  to  interfere, 
not  having  a  mother's  heart  in  her  breast,  for  all  that 
Providence  granted  her  five  babes  of  her  own  to  manage. 
What  do  you  think  she  went  and  did,  Matty  ?  Why,  lost 
two  of  our  children." 

"Lost  two  of  'em  ?  Sakes  alive !  you  don't  say  so !"  re- 
plied Matty.  "Have  a  cup  of  tea,  Fortune,  do;  I  have  it 
brewing  lovely  on  the  hob." 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Fortune.  "I'm  in  no  mood 
for  tea." 

"Well,  then,  do  go  on  with  your  story,  for  it's  mighty 
interesting." 

"It's  simple  enough,"  replied  Fortune.  "Two  of  the 
children  are  lost,  and  now  I  have  traced  'em  to  a  circus  in 
the  town." 

"A  circus  here — what,  Holt's?"  said  the  woman. 

"No  less.  Why,  Matty;  you  look  queer  yourself.  Do 
you  know  anything?" 

"I  know  nothing  for  certain,"  said  Matty.  "I  can  only 
tell  you — but  there,  perhaps  I  had  better  not  say — only 
will  you  excuse  me  for  a  minute  or  two,  Fortune  ?" 

"I'll  excuse  you,  Matty,  if  you  are  on  the  trail  of  the 
children,  but  if  you  aren't,  you  had  better  stay  here  and 
let  me  talk  matters  over.  You  always  were  a  fearful  one 
for  gossip,  and  perhaps  you  have  picked  up  news.  Yes, 
I  see  you  have — you  have  got  something  at  the  back  of 
your  head  this  blessed  minute,  Matty  Bell." 

'That  I  have,"  replied  Mrs.  Bell.  "But  please  don't 
ask  me  a  word  more,  only  let  me  get  on  my  bonnet  and 
cloak." 


£86  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Mrs.  Bell  left  the  room,  and  quickly  returned  dressed 
in  her  widow's  weeds,  for  though  Bell  had  been  dead  for 
over  ten  years,  his  widow  was  still  faithful  to  his  memory ; 
she  slipped  a  thick  crepe  veil  over  her  face,  and  went  out, 
looking  the  very  essence  of  respectability.  She  was  not 
more  than  twenty  minutes  away,  and  when  she  came  back 
she  looked  much  excited.  On  each  of  her  smooth,  pasty 
cheeks  might  even  be  seen  a  little  flush  of  color,  and  her 
dull  blue  eyes  were  brighter  than  their  wont. 

"Fortune,"  she  cried,  "as  there's  a  heaven  above  me, 
I've  found  'em  I" 

"Bless  you,  Matty;  but  where — where?" 

"Why,  at  no  less  a  place  than  Jonathan  Darling's." 

"Jonathan  Darling?    Who  may  he  be?" 

"He's  as  honest  a  fellow,  Fortune,  as  you  can  find  in 
the  whole  of  Madersley — he  drives  a  milk  cart.  He  found 
the  two  little  dears  three  mornings  ago,  wandering  about 
in  their  circus  dresses,  and  he  took  'em  home." 

"Well,"  said  Fortune,  "well— then  that's  all  right.  It 
was  a  trouble,  but  it's  over,  thank  the  good  God.  I  could 
fall  on  my  knees  this  moment  and  offer  up  a  prayer;  that 
I  could,  Matty  Bell." 

Fortune's  small,  twinkling  eyes  were  full  of  tears;  she 
caught  her  neighbor's  hand  and  wrung  it  hard. 

"And  I  bless  you,  Matty,"  she  continued,  "for  you  have 
put  me  on  the  right  trail.  I'll  never  blame  a  gossiping 
neighbor  again,  never  as  long  aa  I  live." 

"But  you  haven't  heard  me  out  to  the  end,"  said  Matty, 
"for  one  of  the  little  'uns  is  very  ill.  You  have  found  'em, 


Found.  287 

iv  is  true;  but  it  isn't  all  beer  and  skittles,  Fortune 
Sqaeers." 

"One  of  the  children  ill  ?"  said  Fortune. 

"Yes;  little  Miss  Diana.  You  come  along  and  see  her 
at  once.  They  say  she  fell  on  her  head  out  of  a  ring  at 
the  circus,  and  she  must  have  hurt  herself  rather  bad. 
Anyhow,  she  don't  know  a  word  she  is  saying,  poor  little 
dear." 

When  Fortune  heard  this  news  she  shut  up  her  mouth 
very  tight,  tied  her  bonnet-strings,  and  followed  her  neigh- 
bor out  of  the  house. 

The  Darlings'  humble  little  domicile  happened  to  be 
in  the  next  street,  and  in  less  than  five  minutes  Fortune 
was  standing  over  little  Diana's  bed.  The  child  was  toss- 
ing from  side  to  side,  her  big  eyes  were  wide  open;  she 
was  gazing  straight  before  her,  talking  eagerly  and  in- 
cessantly. 

"Is  it  to  be  a  pwivate  funeral?"  she  said,  when  For- 
tune entered  the  room,  and,  falling  on  her  knees,  clasped 
the  hot  little  hands  in  hers. 

"Oh,  my  little  darling !"  said  the  good  woman,  "and 
have  I  really  found  you  at  last?" 

She  sank  down  by  the  child  and  burst  into  more  bitter 
tears  than  she  had  even  shed  when  Mrs.  Delaney  went 
away. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  LITTLE  MOTHEB  TO  THE  RESCUE. 

YES,  the  lost  children  were  found,  but  little  Diana  was 
very  ill.  The  blow  she  had  received  on  her  head  had  devel- 
oped into  inflammation  of  the  brain.  She  was  highly  fev- 
erish, and  did  not  in  the  least  know  what  she  was  saying. 
Fortune  immediately  made  up  her  mind  not  to  leave  her. 
After  standing  by  her  bedside  for  a  minute  or  two,  she 
went  into  the  next  room  and  asked  Mrs.  Darling  if  she 
would  take  a  fly  and  go  with  little  Orion  to  Delaney 
Manor. 

"You  are  going  to  your  own  home,  my  poor  little  boy/' 
said  the  nurse,  "you  please  tell  your  uncle  and  Iris  and 
Apollo  that  I  am  staying  here  to  look  after  Diana." 

The  little  boy  was  so  excited  at  the  prospect  of  being 
home  once  more  that  he  forgot  any  small  anxieties  which 
he  had  experienced  with  regard  to  Diana.  He  started  off, 
therefore,  with  Mrs.  Darling  in  the  highest  spirits,  and 
Fortune  returned  to  the  bedside  of  the  sick  child.  Within 
a  couple  of  hours  after  Orion's  departure,  Mr.  Dolman  ar- 
rived in  person.  When  he  saw  Diana  he  immediately  in- 
sisted on  the  best  doctor  in  the  place  being  sent  for  to  sef 


The  Little  Mother  to  the  Rescue.  289 

The  medical  man  arrived ;  but,  when  he  did  so,  he  shook 
his  head. 

"The  child  is  dangerously  ill,"  he  said.  "I  could  not 
hear  of  her  being  moved  at  present.  She  must  have  ab- 
solute quiet  and  good  nursing." 

"I'm  going  to  nurse  her,"  said  Fortune. 

"A  properly  trained  nurse  would  be  best,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. 

"I  and  no  other  am  going  to  nurse  her,"  repeated  For- 
tune. 

She  had  taken  off  her  bonnet  and  mantle  and  was  seated 
quietly  by  the  bedside.  No  one  could  look  more  capable, 
more  determined,  than  the  American  woman  did  on  this 
occasion.  The  doctor  saw  that  he  must  give  way. 

"Haven't  I  done  for  her  from  the  blessed  moment  when 
she  was  sent  from  heaven  into  her  mother's  arms?"  con- 
tinued Fortune.  "I  shall  nurse  her  now,  whether  it's  the 
will  of  the  Almighty  that  she  lives  or  dies." 

At  these  words,  little  Diana  opened  her  great,  black 
eyes. 

"And  you'll  never  know  fear 
Any  more,  little  dear," 

she  said  in  a  voice  of  intense  satisfaction.  Then  she  looked 
up  at  Fortune,  and  raised  her  brow  in  a  puzzled  manner. 

"I  aren't  fwightened  of  G'eased  Lightning,"  she  said. 
A  smile  broke  over  her  little  face,  then  the  light  of  reason 
once  more  faded,  and  she  entered  the  dark  region  of  de- 
lirium and  danger. 

The  doctor  did  all  he  could  and  Fortune  did  all  she 
could,  and  presently  Aunt  Jane  appeared  OB  the  scene,  and 


290  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

insisted  on  seeing  the  child,  and  shook  her  head  over  her 
and  cried  a  little  privately ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts 
to  get  her  well  again,  little  Diana  grew  weaker,  day  by 
day.  She  did  not  know  Fortune,  except  at  very  rare  in- 
tervals. Day  and  night  she  talked  incessantly  of  her  past 
life,  of  the  beautiful  garden,  of  the  animals,  of  Eub-a- 
Dub,  and  more  especially  of  Kub-a-DuVs  public  funeral. 
She  also  mentioned  Greased  Lightning  and  Pole  Star,  and 
Uncle  Ben  and  the  circus;  but  when  she  talked  of  them 
her  voice  changed;  it  grew  high,  eager,  and  excited,  and 
her  little  breath  panted  out  of  her  weary  body.  She  often 
ended  her  delirious  talk  with  a  cry  of  distress. 

"Oh,  I  has  fallen,"  she  said,  with  a  sob.  "I  has  fallen 
from  the. wing."  Then  she  would  clasp  both  her  hot  hands 
to  her  aching  head,  and  moan  bitterly. 

The  doctor  was  very  anxious  about  her,  and  Fortune 
was  very  sad,  and  so  was  Uncle  William,  and  even  Aunt 
Jane. 

The  cablegram  was  sent  to  father,  and  they  all  earnestly 
hoped  that  he  was  already  on  his  homeward  way. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  Manor,  Iris,  Apollo,  and  Orion  had 
a  hard  time.  It  is  true  that  they  were  no  longer  fettered 
or  coerced  in  any  way.  Aunt  Jane  took  scarcely  any  no- 
tice of  them,  and  Uncle  William  spent  most  of  his  time 
alone.  The  three  children  could  come  in  and  out  of  the 
house  as  they  pleased ;  they  could  wander  about  the  garden 
where  four  used  to  play  hapily;  they  could  visit  the  old 
haunts  that  four  used  to  love ;  but  because  the  fourth  was 
now  absent,  the  joy  and  the  mirth  of  the  old  dayg  seemed 
quite  to  have  left  the  remaining  three. 


The  Little  Mother  to  the  Rescue.  291 

As  time  went  by,  Iris  grew  whiter  and  whiter.  Often 
she  wandered  away  by  herself,  and  flinging  herself  on  the 
ground,  would  moan  out  her  distress. 

"Mother,  mother,"  she  used  to  sob,  "I  have  not  done 
what  you  told  me;  I  have  not  been  a  little  mother.  Can 
you  ever  forgive  me  ?  Oh,  if  Diana  dies,  I  am  certain  that 
I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

At  last,  when  a  fortnight  had  passed  by,  Iris  had  a 
dream.  She  never  told  her  dream  to  anyone,  but  she  got 
up  that  morning  with  a  very  determined  expression  on 
her  small  face.  After  breakfast  she  went  straight  down- 
stairs to  the  library,  and  spoke  to  Uncle  William. 

"Uncle  William,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  say  that  I  am 
going  to  see  Diana." 

"My  dear,"  said  Uncle  William,  who  was  furtively  at 
that  moment  wiping  a  tear  from  his  eye,  "I  greatly  fear 
that  you  cannot  do  so;  we  have  had  bad  news  of  little 
Diana  this  morning.  I  greatly  fear,  Iris,  that  she  will  not 
be  long  with  us;  her  strength  is  going,  and  there  is  little 
chance  of  the  fever  abating.  The  doctor  has  but  a  small 
hope  of  her  recovery — in  fact,  I  may  almost  say  that  he  has 
no  hope." 

"It  is  a  fortnight  since  Diana  was  found,  and  you  have 
never  let  me  see  her  yet,"  continued  Iris ;  "but  I  am  going 
to  her  to-day.  I  had  a  dream  last  night,"  she  continued, 
"and  in  my  dream  I But  I'm  not  going  to  say  any- 
thing more,  only  I  must  see  Diana  to-day." 

"I  am  afraid  you  cannot  do  so,  Iris,"  replied  Uncle 
William. 


292  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

"And  why  not,  if  the  child  has  the  wish?"  remarked 
Aunt  Jane  suddenly. 

Until  that  moment  Iris  had  no  idea  that  Aunt  Jane  was 
in  the  room.  She  started  now  when  she  heard  her  voice; 
but  reading  the  expression  on  her  face,  she  ran  up  to  her 
eagerly. 

"If  you  are  for  it,  Aunt  Jane,  it  will  be  all  right,"  she 
cried.  "Please  have  a  carriage  ordered  this  minute  and  let 
me  go." 

"I  would  not,  if  I  were  you,  wife,"  said  Uncle  William. 
"You  see  how  delicate  Iris  is  already,  and  the  sight  of 
her  little  sister  would  shock  her  dreadfully." 

"She  may  just  as  well  go,"  said  Aunt  Jane.  "In  my 
opinion,  it  would  be  wrong  to  leave  any  stone  unturned 
and  Iris  always  had  a  remarkable  influence  over  the  other 
children.  Besides,  my  dear  William,  when  David  comes 
back,  I  should  not  like  Iris  to  have  to  tell  him  that  I  re- 
fused what,  after  all,  is  a  very  natural  request." 

"Aunt  Jane,  I  love  you  for  those  words,"  said  Iris. 

Aunt  Jane's  face  quite  flushed  when  Iris  said  she  loved 
her.  She  went  across  the  room  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Desire  the  pony  carriage  to  be  sent  round  directly," 
was  her  order  to  the  servant  when  he  appeared. 

Accordingly,  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  Iris  and  Aunt 
Jane  were  driving  into  Madersley.  They  went  straight  to 
the  humble  house  where  the  Darlings  lived.  The  greater 
part  of  the  house  was  given  up  to  little  Diana  and  her 
nurse. 

"Please,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Iris,  as  they  approached  the 


The  Little  Mother  to  the  Rescue.  293 

door;  "may  I  go  into  Diana's  room  by  myself?  I  don't 
want  anyone  to  be  with  me  when  I  see  her." 

"You  may  have  it  your  way,  Iris,"  said  Aunt  Jane.  "I 
interfered  once,  and  I  believe  I  did  wrong;  now  you  shall 
have  it  your  own  way." 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Jane,"  answered  Iris.  She  scarcely 
looked  at  her  aunt;  all  her  thoughts  were  centered  on  the 
mission  which  she  had  taken  in  hand.  When  the  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  humble  door,  the  child  ran  straight  into  the 
house. 

"Who  may  you  be,  little  miss  ?"  said  Bessie  Darling,  who 
had  never  seen  her  before. 

"I  am  the  sister  of  Diana ;  I  am  a  mother  to  the  others," 
said  Iris. 

"Sakes  alive !"  exclaimed  the  woman.  "You  a  mother  ? 
Why,  you  poor  little  mite,  you  look  as  if  you  wanted  a 
deal  of  mothering  yourself." 

"Please  tell  me  what  room  my  sister  is  in,"  said  Iris, 
removing  her  hat  as  she  spoke. 

Bessie  Darling  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  she 
pointed  to  a  door.  Iris  turned  the  handle  and  entered 
the  room. 

It  was  a  hot  day,  and  the  window  was  wide  open;  a 
green  blind  was  down  to  keep  out  the  glare  of  the  sun; 
there  was  a  quantity  of  ice  in  a  great  pail  in  one  corner  of 
the  room,  and,  as  Iris  softly  entered,  Fortune  was  in  the 
act  of  putting  a  fresh  cold  cloth  on  the  sick  child's  fore,- 
head. 


294  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

Little  Diana  was  murmuring  her  ceaseless  refrain : 

"You'll  never  know  fear, 
Any  more,  little  dear. 
Good-by." 

"Why,  Diana!"  said  Iris. 

Iris's  voice  was  quite  fresh.  It  had  a  different  note  in 
it  from  all  the  voices  which  for  weeks  had  sounded  in  lie- 
tie  Diana's  ears.  She  was  lying  in  a  partial  stupor,  but 
now  she  opened  her  eyes  very  wide. 

"Iris,"  she  said ;  "Iris."  And  a  smile  broke  all  over  her 
face. 

Iris  ran  up  to  the  bedside.  She  was  always  quiet  in  her 
manner ;  great  excitement  only  accentuated  her  quiet.  She 
knelt  down  at  once  by  the  sick  child,  and  took  both  her 
hot  hands  in  hers. 

"Darling,"  she  said,  "I  am  your  little  mother,  and  I 
have  come  back  to  you." 

"That's  beautiful,"  answered  Diana.  She  uttered  a 
very  deep  sigh.  She  had  been  tossing  restlessly  about,  but 
now  her  hot  hands  lay  quiet  in  Iris'. 

As  to  Fortune,  she  was  so  amazed  that  she  did  not  utter 
a  word. 

"Go  to  sleep,  Di,"  said  Iris,  in  a  voice  of  authority;  "I 
am  your  little  mother,  and  I  wish  you  to  go  to  sleep." 

"It's  awfu'  nice  to  be  mothered  again,"  said  Diana.  She 
opened  her  eyes  languidly,  fixed  them  on  Iris,  smiled  once 
more,  and  then  the  thick  lashes  fell  over  the  pale  cheeks. 
In  about  five  minutes  she  was  sound  asleep. 

Little  Diana  had  often  slept  during  the  past  fortnight, 
but  during  all  that  time  she  had  had  no  sleep  like  this — 


The  Little  Mother  to  the  Rescue.  295 

7.0  quiet,  so  restful.  Iris,  kneeling  by  her  side,  never 
moved. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  chair  or  you'll  faint,  my  love,"  said 
Fortune,  in  a  low  whisper. 

Iris  shook  her  head. 

Soon  afterwards  Fortune  softly  left  the  room,  and  then 
there  fell  a  deep  and  solemn  silence  over  the  little  house. 

Aunt  Jane,  Bessie  Darling,  and  Fortune  all  sat  in  the 
outer  room.  The  heat  grew  greater;  they  opened  both 
door  and  window,  and  a  gentle  breeze  now  blew  through 
the  sick-room.  The  child  slept  on.  The  little  mother 
kneeling  by  her  side  remained  as  still  as  if  she  was  carved 
in  marble. 

About  four  in  the  afternoon  the  doctor  came  in. 

"Who  is  this?"  he  whispered,  looking  at  Iris. 

"It's  the  eldest  little  sister,  sir,"  said  Fortune;  "she 
came  down  here  this  morning  quite  unbidden,  and  she  told 
the  little  one  that  she  was  her  mother,  and  the  little  one 
smiled  and  went  off  sound  asleep  directly." 

The  doctor,  too,  retreated  into  the  outer  room. 

"It  is  my  belief  that  the  little  girl  has  saved  the  child's 
life,"  he  said.  "Whatever  you  do,  don't  make  a  sound; 
my  little  patient  has  not  slept  like  this  since  the  beginning 
of  her  illness.  This  sleep  will  probably  be  the  turning- 
point.  I  shall  not  be  far  off;  send  for  me  whenever  she 
awakens." 

The  day  wore  on,  the  evening  approached;  and  Iris  still 
knelt  by  Diana's  side,  and  Diana  still  slept.  The  sick 
child  had  no  dreams  in  that  healthful,  beautiful,  life-re- 
storing slumber.  Slowly,  hour  by  hour,  the  fret  and  the 


296  A  Little  Mother  to  the  Others. 

worry  left  the  little  face,  the  burning  fever  departed,  the 
little  brow  grew  cool  and  calm;  smiles — baby  smiles — 
came  once  more  round  the  lips ;  the  old  child-look — the  old 
Diana-look — returned. 

Iris  knelt  on.  Her  knees  ached,  her  arms  ached,  her 
head  ached ;  she  grew  stiff ;  she  grew  first  hot  and  then  cold ; 
but  never  once  did  she  move  or  swerve  from  her  original 
position.  The  great  joy  of  her  spirit  supported  her  through 
the  terrible  ordeal.  At  long,  long  last  she  was  really  a  lit- 
tle mother ;  she  was  saving  Diana's  life. 

Now  and  then  Fortune  approached  to  hold  a  cup  of  milk 
or  other  restorative  to  Iris'  pale  lips.  She  feared  that  the 
child  might  faint  before  Diana  awoke.  But  great  love 
enabled  Iris  to  go  through  this  time  of  suffering.  She 
neither  fainted  nor  failed. 

The  beautiful  healing  sleep  lasted  for  nearly  eight  hours ; 
then,  when  faint,  cool  shadows  had  stolen  across  the  sick 
room,  little  Diana  opened  her  eyes.  She  saw  Iris  still 
kneeling  in  the  same  position  and  looking  at  her  with  a 
world  of  love  in  her  face.  Diana  smiled  back  in  answer 
to  the  love. 

"I's  k'ite  well,  Iris,"  she  said.  "I's  had  a  beaut'ful 
s'eep,  and  there's  not  going  to  be  a  pwivate  nor  yet  a 
public  funeral." 

"No,  no,  Di !"  said  Iris,  sobbing  now  as  she  spoke. 

"I's  hung'y,"  said  little  Diana.  "I'd  like  my  supper 
awfu'  much." 

The  crisis  was  over,  and  Diana  was  to  live.  From  that 
hour  she  recovered,  slowly  but  surely.  Iris  was  allowed 


The  Little  Mother  to  the  Rescue.  297 

to  be  with  her  a  good  deal,  and  the  mere  fact  of  Iris  being 
in  the  room  always  seemed  to  chase  the  irritation  and  the 
weakness  of  that  long  recovery  away.  At  the  end  of  a 
fortnight  the  sick  child  was  well  enough  to  return  to  De- 
laney  Manor.  Then,  from  being  half  well  she  became  quite 
well,  and  when  the  autumn  really  came,  and  the  cool 
breezes  blew  in  from  the  sea,  father  returned  to  his  home 
once  more,  and  he  and  Aunt  Jane  had  a  long  talk,  and  it 
was  finally  arranged  that  the  four  children  were  to  remain 
in  the  old  home,  and  were  to  play  in  the  old  garden,  and 
that  father  was  to  stay  at  home  himself  and  look  after 
them  as  best  he  could. 

"They  are  not  ordinary  children,  and  I  frankly  confess 
I  cannot  manage  them,"  said  Aunt  Jane.  "As  to  Iris,  she 
is  without  exception  the  most  peculiar  child  I  ever  came 
across;  I  know,  of  course,  she  is  a  good  child — I  would 
not  say  a  word  to  disparage  her,  for  I  admire  her  strength 
— but  when  a  child  considers  that  she  has  got  a  mis- 
sion  " 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  said  David  Delaney.  "Iris 
thinks  that  she  is  to  be  a  little  mother  to  the  others — those 
were  Evangeline's  last  words  to  her.  Well,  Jane,  it  is  a 
heavy  burden  for  such  a  little  creature  to  carry,  but  the 
fact  of  her  obeying  her  mother's  last  injunction  really 
saved  little  Diana's  life." 

THE    END. 


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SOUTHWORTH 

AN     ATTRACTIVE     LIST     OF     THE 
WORKS  OF  THIS  POPULAR  AUTHOR 


/¥MIE  first  eighteen  titles  with  brackets  are  books 
I     with  sequels,  "Victor's  Triumph,"  being  a  sequel 
"    to  "Beautiful  Fiend."  etc.    They  are  all  printed 
from  large,  clear  type  on  a  superior  quality  of  flexible 
paper  and  bound  in  English  vellum  cloth,  assorted  col- 
ors, containing  charming  female  heads  lithographed  in 
twelve  colors,  as  inlays;  the  titles  being  stamped  in 
harmonizing  colors  of  ink  or  foil.     Cloth,  12mo  size. 

f  1    Beautiful  Fiend,  A  26    Discarded  Daughter,  The 

\  2    Victor's  Triumph  27    Doom  of  Deville.  The 

Bride's  Fate_  28    Eudora 

CraUs\hf Grave  "  l*tal  SeC0ret'  A 

Tned  for  Her  Life  30  Fortune  Seeker 

Fair  Play  31  Gypsy's  Prophecy 

How  He  Won  Her  32  Haunted  Homestead 

Family  Doom  33  India;  or,  The  Pearl  ox 
(10    Maiden  Widow  Pearl  River 

fll    Hidden  Hand,  The  34  Lady  of  the  Isle,  Th» 

:    Capitola's  Peril  35  Lost  Heiress,  The 

1 14  sSfli6-  *d  36  Love>s  Labor  Won 

(15  LoTtH^rofLinHthgow  37  Missing  Bride,  The 

{l6  Noble  Lord,  A  38  Mother-m-Law 

/ 17  Unknown  $9  Prince  of  Darkness,  and 

1 18  Mystery  of  Raven  Rocks  Artist's  Love 

19  Bridal  Eve,  The  40  Retribution 

20  Bride's  Dowry,  The  41  Three  Beauties,  The 

21  Bride  of  Llewellyn,  The  42  Three  Sisters,  The 

22  BrokenEngagement,The  43  Two  Sisters,  The 

23  Christmas  Guest,  The  44  Vivian 

24  Curse  of  Clifton  45  Widow's  Son 

25  Deserted  Wife,  The  46  Wife's  Victory 

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CHARMING    ROMANCES    BY  THIS 

FAVORITE     AUTHOR     OF 

STORIES  FOR  GIRLS 

THIS  attractive  line  has 
inlays  of  most  artistic 
and  perfect  female  heads 
lithographed  in  twelve  colors, 
title  being  stamped  in  green 
ink.  The  brown  tones  pre- 
dominate in  the  lithograph- 
ing, harmonizing  beautifully 
with  the  color  of  the  cloth. 
An  artistically  attractive  and 
pleasing  binding.  Each  book 
in  a  printed  glazed  paper 
wrapper.  Cloth.  12mo  size. 


1  Aikenside  12 

2  Bad  Hugh  13 

3  Cousin  Maude  I* 
Darkness  and  Daylight  15 
Dora  Deane  16 
Edith  Lyle's  Secret  17 
English  Orphans  18 
Ethelyn's  Mistake  19 
Family  Pride  20 

10     Homestead  on  the  Hillside  21 

i  I     Leighton  Homestead,  The  22 


Lena  Rivers 

Maggie  Miller 

Marian  Gi-,t 

Meadowbrook  Fai«P 

Mildred 

Millbank 

Miss  McDonald 

Reetor  of  St.  Marks 

Rosamond 

Rose  Mather 

Tempest  and  Sunshine 


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